


The Reality of Card Games

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 10:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 76,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: James has always been dealt the lucky hand.  Practically nothing can touch him, except for the occasional hex from a Slytherin or a rejection from Lily Evans. But luck is in limited supply, and it always seems to run out when we need it most. (Mostly PG-13, but occasional R themes later.)





	1. Ripping Cards

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Life was like a deck of cards.

Or, more equitable, a game of hold ‘em poker. It wasn’t just about getting the best cards; it was how they interacted with the others in the game. While everyone longs for two aces, a two and three can be far superior if the same suite lies on the table. Some people fold before they even have a chance to see what they’ve got, while others go all in too late. To James Potter, cards had never been a problem, and neither had life. His cards always seemed to form a straight or flush without any intense strategy on his part. He always seemed to have the higher cards, always a King and Queen.

Except that his King and Queen were from an old brand, with faded faces and bent corners. Their fragility couldn’t be ignored, but they played their part well. This card game was not for chips or Galleons- it was for happiness and love and meaning and morality and friends and life. In a game of such high stakes, a dealer had to be present. Someone had to be giving out these cards, these destinies, because if there wasn’t, that meant you couldn’t ever cash in. James had never been religious, but he always believed in destiny, and, in turn, a dealer.

The day he stopped believing in both, he was sixteen. Lord Voldemort had nothing to do with it, nor any sort of Dark Magic. It was just life. It was just the day when one of his cards ripped.

The day he stopped believing in both, he was playing cards.

“Raise,” James challenged, sliding two Galleons forward into the pot. His face was impassive but confident. Looking up to meet his mother’s eyes, he gave her a rare grin. “Think I’m bluffing?”

His mother chuckled, leaning forward from her stack of pillows on her hospital bed. “You could never lie to your own mother.” Nevertheless, she dropped two Galleons into the pot.

“You don’t seem too confident,” James whispered, nodding toward his dad. Mr. Potter was fast asleep in a chair in the corner. It was well past noon, but he hadn’t slept in over two days. The light from the window shone brightly off of his practically white hair, and Mrs. Potters lined face creased as she smiled fondly at her husband.

“It’ll be our seventy-seventh anniversary a month from now,” Mrs. Potter informed her son, turning back to the game. 

“Congrats,” James said, half-jokingly. “Raise,” he repeated, adding another two Galleons.

She smiled knowingly. “Fold,” she called out, dropping her cards into the discard pile. The various cards were strewn across her hospital bed in a messy fashion, much like her son and husband’s hair. 

James grabbed the Galleons and put them on the bedside table. “Why do you always let me win, Mum?”

“You’re a good boy, James. You should always get to win,” his mother said, settling back into his pillows.

James rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said, standing up. His knees hurt from kneeling at his mother’s bed for the past hour. He glanced at his watch, a Christmas present he’d received from his father that morning. There were planets spaced around it instead of numbers, and twelve hands pointed whichever way. It was six o’ clock, which meant that him and his father would probably be kicked out any minute.

“James.”

He pivoted at the sound of his name, to see what dying was really like.

No gradual slowing of breath, no graceful closing of the eyes. Charlotte Potter’s breaths were ragged and quick, and her eyes were popping from her skull. There was no peaceful acceptance of death, but sporadic, terrified movements, as though she thought she could cheat death by feeble jerks alone. He clutched her hand, screaming for help, but his voice was drowned by a reverberating ringing. Everything around him turned into a blur.

His dad was yelling.

Healers were coming out of nowhere, running their wands over his mother’s convulsing body, shouting spells, shoving potions down her throat, trying to rise to an impossible task. This was a card game that you couldn’t cheat out of. 

Hands were trying to pull James away, but he refused. They were much stronger than his scrawny frame, but they were propelled away by a sudden release of magic. He barely took notice, staring into the mirror image of his own eyes, right down to the instinctual panic that filled them. The only differences were the deep wrinkles surrounding hers, and the free flow of tears from his. They were coating his face, blurring his vision, but James could still feel her hand losing tension. He gripped it harder, as though he could transfer the force into her, but the muscles only grew weaker.

“Mum! Stay! Stay!” he screamed. 

“Charlotte!” his father yelled.

The Healers’ shouts were indiscernible, but James somehow caught, “We’re losing her!”

“No, no, no, no we’re not!” Mr. Potter roared, but the uncertainty in his tone was impossible to miss. 

Charlotte did not say anything memorable or even good-bye to her husband or son. Real death did not give you that luxury. Real death couldn’t be prepped for, even when you knew it was coming. Real death wasn’t glorious, it was ugly and desperate and wrong.

He felt the muscles desperately clutching his hand relax. He saw the wide, blank look of his mother’s eyes, and her other hand slip sickly from the bed. But, most of all, James noticed that his sobs couldn’t be heard in the silence that was death.

It was the day that he stopped believing in card games.


	2. Poker Face

_He is standing in front of Lily Evans. Her dress robes are a brilliant emerald green, and James wants to tell her how beautiful she looks._

_But he doesn’t._

_He turns around, even though she is screaming for him to come back. His surroundings are pitch-black, and the only light comes from Lily’s blazing hair._

_“No,” James whispers._

_“Potter,” she says. “James!”_

_“Go away,” he replies._

_“Don’t be a dolt! Tell me what’s wrong!”_

_“Why don’t you ask the Giant Squid?”_

_But she grabs his hand anyways, and pulls him to the Astronomy Tower. He has been stronger than her since fourth year, but tonight she had superhuman force. Or perhaps he just wants to go with her._

_The Marauders are in the Tower. Peter pushes him on top of the window sill, and Remus is holding a rabbit._

_“Don’t jump yet,” Sirius says, “I’ll get my motorbike.”_

_But James doesn’t want to jump from the Astronomy Tower. It’s mad, he tries to say, but his body is acting on its own accord and he falls. His body thrashes in the air, his center of focus constantly changing, and he realizes he left his glasses in the Tower._

_He is not afraid of the ground, even though it is speeding towards him at a lethal rate. Nothing can be worse than this fall._

_Then the ground turns into the Black Lake, and he plummets through the water deeper than momentum can account for. The full moon shines through the water, and James looks for the rabbit, but realizes that he is underwater. Though his glasses are gone, his vision is perfect._

_A bat flies across the light of the moon, and James wants to save it._

_He turns around, and his mother’s body floats in front of him. He reaches out to drag it up to the surface, but all his hand touches is more water. The body drifts away from him, slowly at first, but then James has to swim as fast as he can to even see it anymore. He opens his mouth to scream, but water fills is lungs quicker than sound can exit. The water is searing hot and heavy, and its burn inflames his insides as he watches her body speed away. The water in his body is on fire, and it’s blazing through him. James tries to drink more water to put it out, but this only feeds it. His muscles go limp though James knows he should swim to the surface. The fire is consuming him, and even though James can now see the licks of flames burning his skin, eating his flesh, he is inexplicably heavier, and sinks._

_James touches the bottom of the Black Lake, and he calls for his mother, but she doesn’t come._

_She’ll never come again._

“CHARLOTTE!”

James bolted awake, a mix of sweat and tears cascading off his face. His mind was still in the Black Lake, but his body almost automatically reached for his glasses. His bed was a mess of twisted sheets, and the dress robes he had fallen asleep in were wrinkled and stained.

His father’s sobs could be heard below him as James jammed his glasses on his face. Harold screamed his wife’s name again in grief, and James wasn’t shocked by this occurrence, more disturbed by this routine.His glasses brought a clear focus on the world, but James missed the dullness of a dream.Consciousness was sharply real, and reality wasn’t something he wanted to cope with.

This grief was all-consuming; he was in a deep hole that he'd never be able to climb out of. It was dark, cold, tiring, and lonely. He felt like he was constantly leaping to try to find a handhold so he could hoist himself up, but all he ended up doing was scratching his fingers down to the bone.

James ran his hands through his hair and swung his legs off the bed. There wouldn’t be any more sleep that night.

Standing up, he contemplated going flying to clear his head, but he caught view of himself in the mirror.

His face had always been thin, and his build lankly, but they were now so more than ever. The lack of meals showed. He had fallen asleep in the same dress robes he had worn to the funeral. They hung on him drearily loose, and there were deep purple circles beneath his eyes, and he was faintly reminded of Moony. Only his demon wasn’t monthly, his was every moment.

But these details didn’t shake him. He had seen them slowly progress since his mother’s death.What made him double-take was that his mirror did not capture the top of his head anymore. James had stood in front of the mirror countless times, but he had always been able to clearly see his upper body. And, now, the view had changed.

He had grown taller.

The fact was simple, expected, and would normally be met with a prideful smirk. It was a symbol of aging, of becoming a man. Now, James just saw it as a mark that life went on without Charlotte Potter. This was comforting to some, but James would rather have had everything and everyone stop and notice. He was awe-stuck by the reality that there were people who didn’t know that his mother had even existed, let alone had died. This event that was so dreadfully impacting to him, that would change him forever, wasn’t relevant at all to the world.

James strode purposefully to the corner of his room, with an air he hadn’t had for a while. Picking up his broom that leaned against the wall, he did not make for the door, or even the window, but his dresser.

CRASH.

Everything hit the floor with a single swipe of his broom. Glass shattered, plastic snapped, and the wood floor left dented. A month ago, James would have been appalled that anyone would treat a Nimbus 1700, top-of-the-line broomstick, like that, but now James didn’t care. It wasn’t important anymore. If his mother hadn’t been relevant, what right did a broomstick have to be so?

He drove the handle of the broom into the mirror. The cracks radiated from that center point, destroying the glass, but he wasn’t satisfied. James bashed the mirror again, and again, and when it was gone he turned to his desk, the pile of Quidditch magazines, and finally the window.

It was useless, James knew. Destroying all the objects in his room did nothing to solve the problem. But it released the smoldering fury within him, and the desperation of his actions only made them more real. He saw each blow in slow motion. As he battered the window repeatedly, he realized that it wasn't just grief he was expressing.

It was guilt.

Guilt, because he furious at his mother for leaving him, even though it was far beyond her control.

Guilt, because he couldn't be stronger for his father, because he didn't know what his father needed from him.

Guilt, because he wasn't allowed to break like this. He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be unshakable. Teenage boys, Marauders, were supposed to be invincible. This had been too rude of a wake-up call.

But mostly it was because, on some level, James had wanted this to happen. He'd been watching his mother die for so long, been in this agony since he was thirteen.His mother had been old, even for a witch, and every sniffle could be deadly.He'd been sick of wondering if this cough or that sneeze were just the common cold or something that could rip his mother away from him. He hated himself at that moment,such a drastic turn from his usual arrogance. From his usual ignorance.

“Mate.”

James turned. Sirius stood in the doorway, surveying the room. He followed his friend's gaze. Shards of glass littered the floor- there wasn’t one inch of the ground that didn’t threaten to slash open their bare feet. The dresser was actually overturned, and the desk’s contents had been strewn throughout the floor. He felt something warm flow down his arm, and James looked down and saw a small gash oozing blood.

“Even your dad’s room isn’t this bad,” Sirius stated. The pitiful attempt at humor was obliterated by his empty tone.

James hated how the room below him was his father’s room, not his parents’ room. He wants to punch Sirius for implying that his mother didn’t own that room just as much as his father did, but then he realized that his implication was just as true as it was painful.

He laid the broomstick across his desk, and stared back at Sirius. “She’s dead,” he said, his voice hollow. “She’s gone. Mum is dead.” They were obvious words, repetitive. But James needed to say them. He crossed the room, somehow managing not to cut himself.

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed. “She is.” His voice was equally as dead.

“I can’t stand this house,” James admitted, unable to stop the flow of words. “Every corner reminds me of what used to be here. Dad wakes me up every night reminding me why I couldn’t fall asleep, and all he wants is to be alone so he can stare at photos all fucking day. Like that is somehow going to bring her back? Like if he relives everything, it’ll be like she’s there with us?” The last sentence ended in a sob, and the tears were just as unstoppable as his words had been.

They stared at each other for a moment before embracing each other in unison, and James suddenly thought how ridiculous it was that they hadn’t done this before. Both of them had skated around each other, never really letting the other see how broken they really were. Sirius had remained largely silent and stoic, but James had slipped constantly. Both of them had ignored the grief between them until then.

You couldn’t keep a façade like that up forever. It had to break. You had to admit you were losing, you had to lay down your cards and own up to them. No matter how many chips were on the line, you had to show your emotions at some point. No one could keep a poker face forever.

James cried on Sirius’ shoulder. He was a sixteen year old boy who needed to hold on to someone, who needed advice on how to play his now-losing hand. Luckily, his brother had had similar cards before.

“Tomorrow, we’re going back to Hogwarts,” Sirius said. “It’s better than here, right, Prongs?”

James nodded.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Thanks for reading!  This chapter is completely unbetaed, but I think spell check did a great job, personally.  Reviews make my day.  Seriously, the more reviews I get, the more of an excuse I have to not do my homework.**  


	3. It's Just Not My Night

Thestrals.

He could see them now.  James froze in front of the carriage, his heart still in his chest.  He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t anticipated this.  Of course, Dumbledore would send the carriage for them.  He wouldn’t make them walk the grounds with their trunks, and James had known since third year, when Peter lost a grandfather,  that thestrals pulled the carriages.  He had pressed him for a description, and he had seen the illustrations

But neither his mate’s explanation nor any drawing in a textbook had told him that seeing a thestral would force him to hear his mother’s rattling breath and see her eyes fade.  James swallowed heavily and shuddered visibly.  Sirius gritted his teeth at the sight of them, but, as though reading James’ mind, acted as if they were invisible to him.  James opened the carriage door for Sirius, and followed him in as though nothing was out of routine.

The ride was silent. James tried not to look out the window, and he knew Sirius was doing the same.  He shivered through his thick cloak from something besides the cold.  

The carriage halted, and James opened the door a mere second later.  He dragged his trunk down, hearing the thestrals pad the ground impatiently with their hooves.  His jaw tensed, and he tried to think of something else other than why these thestrals were suddenly so visible to him, why he could suddenly hear their breaths behind him.   

_The Healers walk out of the room, defeated._

He could hear Sirius’ voice calling to him, but it slipped further away.  

_His mother’s hand iss cold and stiff as he grips it.  Tears are a luxury he can no longer lose himself in.  His father and he stare at the unmoving body before them._

James lost his balance, barely catching himself.  Sirius’ hand was holding his shoulder.  He knew that this reality was where his mind should be, but the memories were unraveling instead.

_“You’ll be expected to make some sort of statement tomorrow, Harold,” Mr. Lucas says.  “I’ll calm the press down, pay a few people off.  But I can only hold the Boards off for so long, Harold.”_

_His father’s face is in his hands, so James nods for him.  Valerie is beside him, holding his hand.  He wonders why she is here now, but James can’t think about topics like that for too long.  He can only think about what happened twelve hours ago._

“Potter? Potter!”

James blinked, shaken. Looking quite perplexed to see him there, Lily Evans was walking up to the castle with Amos Diggory’s cloak around her.  James knew it was his because the Keeper was standing right beside her without anything but his Hufflepuff jumper to protect his chest from the cold.

Sirius nodded in recognition.  “Evans.  Diggory.”

“Dinner’s about to start,” Diggory supplied.  “Looks like you two have great timing.”

James glanced briefly down at their entwined hands.  “So do you.”  Sirius noticed and raised an eyebrow.

“Pardon?” Diggory asked, puzzled.

“Well,” Sirius replied, “You never made for the Quaffle“- here he tilted his head in Lily’s direction- “while there was a bigger Chaser in the game, did you?”  He clapped James on the back.  Lily’s eyes flashed in recognition of Sirius’ analogy, but anything she had been about to screech at him was cut off.

“I’m a Keeper,” Diggory stumbled.

“I’m not so sure,” Sirius jibed, grinning for the first time in a while.  “Might wanna reassess that, hey, Evans?”

Lily ignored him.  She practically led Diggory up the stairs to the castle, but stopped suddenly when she reached the doors.  Looking barely over her shoulder, she said, “It’s good to see you’re back, Potter.”

“Glad to see you too, Lily,” James answered.  Lily snorted and walked inside.  James stared the door, wondering what was going on.  He didn’t know how he was supposed to act.  Normally, James would have punched Diggory’s lights out for holding hands with Lily Evans.  Now that seemed rash and unfounded.  Lily could date who she liked- what did James care?  He couldn’t be with her right now anyway.  The jealousy that he always felt when Lily was with another boy was there, but it was barely noticeable over the heavy weight of grief.

“Are you coming, or are you gonna wait for Evans’ permission to come in?”

James felt the corners of his mouth turn upward slightly, but he couldn’t tell if he was smiling or if he just wasn’t frowning anymore.  The boys trudged up the stairs, pushing open the heavy doors of Hogwarts, only to see Filch standing not five inches from the doorway.

Sirius was the first to recover.  He looked down at the minute space between them.  “I can see that you missed us too, Filch.  Hug?”

Filch sneered.  “Come back to make my life miserable, have you? To set off your dungbombs and your fireworks.  To break every rule in this place, eh?  That's why you've come back, isn't it?  Well, you’ll have to wait.  Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, Potter.  Immediately.”  He pulled James’ trunk away from his grasp, looking more upset than we he usually saw them.  

“We’ll have to search these,” Filch said, dropping James’ trunk on the ground and kneeling beside it.

“Right here?” Sirius asked in indignation.  “Students don’t deserve privacy anyway.”  Sirius and Filch glared at each other, and James knew that Sirius had at least three pounds of dungbombs in his trunk.  Normally, James would be worrying about his trunk as well, but this time he knew it was clean.

His stomach ached to proceed through the Great Hall, but instead James said good-bye to Sirius, wishing him good luck in an undertone, and walked up the Grand Staircase.  The rough texture of the railing was comfortingly familiar as he ascended the stairs.  Strangely, none of the staircases James traveled moved as he stepped on them, as if they knew the even their best efforts wouldn’t prevent this student from reaching his destination.  As James looked at the portraits lining the walls, he could almost see some of the passageways underneath them.  James felt like he knew this school better than his own house sometimes, but at that moment, it certainly felt like more of a home.

A few students passed him, fellow Gryffindors often stopping to say hello or, worse, sorry..  He even walked by three Slytherins, but all of them seemed to think it best to keep on their way. What was surprising was the number of girls waving at him, or pausing their route to talk to him.  He was used to girls flirting with him, but the five girls he met along the way had not been flirting with him so much as throwing themselves at him.  In fact, he was so paranoid that he was convinced the next sound he heard was another girl.

“James?” 

He stopped, turning around halfway up the stairs to see Albus Dumbledore looking up at him.

“Professor,” James said.  “I was just going up to your office.”

Dumbledore did not answer right away.  Instead, he simply stared at James for a few seconds.  It made James feel uneasy, as though he was being examined instead of seen.  Unconsciously, James ran a hand through his hair, unknowing as to the reason why Dumbledore suddenly chuckled.

“What caused you think that I wanted to see you in my office, James?  I realize that you are thoroughly conditioned to seeing teacher’s in that environment, but today’s purpose is not punishment.”  Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.  “Follow me.”  He began to descend the stairs that James had just walked up.

“Where are we going, Professor?” James asked, his voice rather monotone.  This seemed to unnerve Dumbledore, for he paused and looked back at James before he replied.

“ _Desire fororrim eht eesot_ ,” Dumbledore said, smiling.  

“Desire _what?_ ” 

“I’d like to apologize,” Dumbledore said, ignoring James’ question, “for the carriages.  Until only a twenty-one minutes ago, I did not know that you had actually witnessed your mother’s death. I’m sorry if you had to experience any distressing memories.”

That was what he wanted to talk about?  His mother’s death?  If that was so, James really didn’t want to be here.   He already thought about that moment constantly, did he really need Dumbledore to pick it apart and examine it for him?

“Professor, I’m actually starving.  Could we maybe pick this up later?”

“No, we could not,” Dumbledore said sternly.  “I’m sorry, James, but I really must insist.”   He turned into the landing of the next staircase and gestured for James to follow him.

They walked in silence for a while, into a section of the castle that James had rarely been.  It wasn’t until he saw a suit of armor that James recalled exactly what was here, but stayed silent as Dumbledore opened a door on the right.  James entered after Dumbledore, observing a scene he already knew too well.

It was a dusty classroom.  The desks were stacked on top of each other, and some were even toppled over.  It was sort of the room that the Marauders would use to hide-out in after running from a prefect.  James’ eyes were immediately drawn not to the broken desks or the plain chalkboard, but the mirror in the corner.

Deciding it was pointless to pretend he wasn’t acquainted with the mirror, he walked towards it.  “The Mirror of  Erised.  _I show not your face, but your heart’s desire._ ”  He stood slightly off the side, not sure if he wanted to see into it anymore.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said.  “What have you seen it before?”

“I saw myself playing professional Quidditch,” James answered mechanically.  “And then I saw Voldemort gone last year.” 

Dumbledore nodded.  “A common sight these days, I’m sure.  One you’ll share with your counterpart.  Hopefully.”

“Was I supposed to understand that?” James said, already knowing the answer.

“Not at all.  I would have been astonished if you had.”  Dumbledore walked closer to the mirror, but stood off to the side as well.  “Many students have discovered the mirror and obsessed over the image, but I suspect far more have walked in here and not spoken of what they’d seen to anyone. What we each see in the mirror is extremely personal and private.   Which is why tonight, James, when I ask you to step in front of the mirror and tell me what you see, I know exactly how much I’m invading your life.”

“When was the last time you told your deepest desire to someone, Professor?”

“Not half an hour ago.  To your father,” Dumbledore responded calmly.

“My dad?” James asked, taken aback.  “My dad was _here?_ ”

“Indeed.  He wished to discuss your return to Hogwarts, among a few other things in which I’m not permitted to share.  It was he who told me you were at St. Mungo’s that day.  But that is a story for perhaps another day.  James, I really must ask that you trust me.  Please step in front of the mirror.”

James sighed, staring at the mirror for only a moment before giving in.  What he saw there did not surprise him, but was almost more impacting so.  There was his mother, as youthful as he could ever remember seeing her, smiling at him, and very clearly alive.  His breath was fogging up the mirror he was so close.  Her glasses couldn’t contain the happy sparkle in her eye, and she stood straight and tall.  She winked at him and laughed at something James wished he could experience with her.  The image was so hopeful that it was agonizing.  He swallowed hard, and turned to tell Dumbledore, but he couldn’t find his voice.

“Do you see your mother?”

He nodded, turning back to his mother’s face.  

“I, too, see a dead relative,” Dumbledore admitted, suddenly somber. “And I, too, feel guilty over her death.”  James tore his eyes from the mirror to Dumbledore, wondering how he knew.

“But I when I look into the mirror, I know exactly what it means.  It means I’m human.  It means that I want her back more than anything else in the world.  And whatever guilt I may feel, I know that it is a regret.  I know that my past doesn’t make me a bad person.  Do you understand, James?”

James looked back at the face of his mother, feeling the burn of tears.  He tensed his jaw, blinked, and stepped away.  “No.”  

He made for the door, sure that he’d feel Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder.  He put his hand on the door knob, sure that he’d hear Dumbledore’s voice telling him to wait.  

He didn’t.

When he closed the door behind him, there weren’t many things he was sure of.  

 


	4. Leaving the Table

Peter Pettigrew was an extremely observant bloke, even if no one gave him credit for it.

When Sirius and James were keeping a secret from Remus and himself, Peter always knew.  They always stood farther apart than they usually did, as though trying to convince the other two that there wasn't a special bond between them. But Peter knew that there was. The close companionship of eight year olds had been replaced by a brotherhood with Sirius. It wasn't surprising- Peter had long ago brushed past the hurt of being pushed aside. It wasn't that he was inadequate, Peter would remind himself. Sirius was just over-adequate.

He had noticed Remus' absences before Sirius or James did. He remembered when he first brought the subject up, James had told him off for not trusting their mate, and Sirius had scoffed as though he'd just insisted that Merlin was still alive.  Barely two months later, Sirius brought up the same conversation and James had eagerly agreed. Peter had chosen to not remind them that it had been his idea first.

In third year, it had been Peter who noticed James looking at Evans for a second too long, or his sudden interest in insulting her, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as having a laugh. He'd actually thought he'd been doing James a favor when he dared him to ask her out. Now, Sirius and Remus never let him forget what he'd gotten them into.

All this partly came from Peter always searching for something to be seen, instead of merely taken it for granted that there wasn't. But it also helped that he knew exactly what to look for. Remus was the most hurt when he insisted he wasn't; Sirius could always be counted on to glance at least twice at his brother as they passed through the dungeons; the dimple on James' cheek only showed when he was truly smiling.

He never advertised this power of observation. Honestly, he considered it a bit creepy.  Even Sirius' fan girls didn't know some of the things Peter knew. It wasn't that he was obsessed, or, worse, gay. It was just that, despite the Marauder's faith in their lying abilities, none of them were very good at keeping things from each other. That's why James had failed at pretending he didn't fancy Lily Evans, why Remus' secret had been deduced within a year, and the problems of Sirius' family hadn't been learned by his telling.

So when Sirius had wrote Remus and Peter saying they were coming back to Hogwarts, Peter had said firmly, "We need to tell Prongs before someone else does." Remus had looked rather taken aback by this rare confident attitude in his friend, but had nodded. Peter picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and put it in his pocket with a sternness that wasn't very becoming.

 

"Mate, come on. Class," Remus said, throwing a pillow at Sirius' sleeping body.  He grunted and turned over, his eyes squinting in an equal mixture of exhaustion and irritation.

"Class? Is that we're here for?" Peter asked, grinning as he tied his shoes. Sirius snorted. Yawning, he flung himself out of bed to the surprising sight of James already dressed. He was about to make some comment about the sudden personality change, but a look from Remus made him think better of it.  Standing up, he shared a knowing glance with Peter.

"Why don't we just skip class today?"

James shook his head, stepping toward the door. His steps were lethargic, and the firm hand on his shoulder from Remus provided just enough incentive to stop.  He turned his head, staring Remus in the eyes. James knew what they were trying to do. Distract him, keep him from grieving. But didn't they understand that this couldn't just be unfocused like a telescope on a constellation, that each pattern was made of stars that burned furiously within him?

"What?" James asked, much harsher than he meant to. Remus retracted his hand quickly, and James felt guilt wash over him for being so rude. It wasn't Remus' fault, after all. He was just trying to be there for his friend.  But none of them had lost their mothers. The closest it came was Peter seeing his grandfather die, and it wasn't as if Peter had an alarmingly close relationship with his grandfather. Sirius had certainly seen death, but nobody close. And, frankly, James was glad that Remus didn't have more tragedy in his life- being a werewolf had to be bad enough.

Changing the subject, Peter asked, "How was Dumbledore last night? What'd he want?"

James ignored the question, his hand on the doorknob. Instead, he looked pointedly at Remus, waiting for him to voice the reason that he had stopped him.

"We think you should know something, first, Prongs," Remus said, taking the hint. He exchanged a quick look at Peter. James let go of the doorknob, turning around to see Sirius halt in his morning routine. James knew that he didn't know what the other two were keeping from him; otherwise he would've been the one to say it.

"What?" James asked, his voice adopting the same harsh tone. He faintly wondered if it was permanent.

Peter nodded at Remus, in silent agreement on something, and focused on James. " _Witch Weekly_ , Prongs. They've been writing some stuff about your mum... and you...Since she died, and all that money transferred back to your Gringotts' account and all... They've been focusing on your inheritance, and, well, how wizards like you usually get married in a few years, and..." He trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say.

"You've got to be FUCKING joking me,"James roared, instant fury coursing through him. "That's what they're making of her death? That's what she means to them, as long as it gets them a few fucking Knuts?"

"Her death is an advertisement, now, for the Potter family's money? Those sons of bitches," Sirius declared, looking as if he was itching for a fight. James didn't know what emotion was on his face, he was so lost. The anger was clear, but several other feelings were buried underneath.

Those girls that had thrown themselves at him the night before...

"Those _bitches_ ," he practically yelled, but it felt like a whisper.

"I know," Remus said, unaware that James was talking about someone else now. "It's despicable, James. It's revolting."

He was having difficulty making any decision. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run downstairs and tell those girls exactly what he thought of them, he wanted to rip every copy of that magazine he could find.

Without warning, the window of the boys' dorm shattered. The four jumped, but none looked for the source. All of them knew that it was James.

"Mate, just..." Sirius began, but stopped at a loss of words. It wasn't often that Sirius didn't know what to say. James knew that if Sirius, the closest thing he had to a brother, couldn't offer words of condolence, no one could.

"Let's go to Hogsmeade. Screw class," James said suddenly. It was a phrase that they'd each uttered on more than one occasion, but it carried none of the joviality that it had before. In fact, it sounded more like a funeral invitation than anything else.

No one stopped the Marauders as they left, except for a few exceptionally brave souls who looked as though they were going to approach James. Remus always shook his head subtly at them before they made it too far.

The day was largely uneventful. They had a few drinks, picked a few fights. Sirius even picked up a _Witch Weekly_ magazine once to see exactly what they were saying, but could only make it half way through before tossing it to the ground. He stomped it into the snow, the fragments of paper ripping easily under his shoes. The Marauders broke into the Shrieking Shack, lying on the filthy floor and talking. Peter was obviously avoiding the issue of Mrs. Potter's death, rambling about essays and the continuing relationship between Alice Richardson and Frank Longbottom, but Sirius cut him off.

"It'll be easier soon, Prongs. I promise," he said, swinging back a bottle of Firewhiskey. Remus shifted uncomfortably on the floor.

"I know," James answered, trying very hard to keep his voice under control. Sirius must've sensed it, because he stayed silent and swirled the remains of his bottle instead of speaking.

"I'm sorry," Remus said. "For her death. I never really met her, but from what I read-"

"In _Witch Weekly_ , you mean?" James savagely taunted, standing up. There was no answer. "My mum was more than that _damn_ magazine could ever sum up. Especially when they're just trying to push their agenda, trying to sell as many as possible, they don't care what they're writing as long as they get a few Knuts for it!"

Remus stayed on the floor, carefully looking away from James' glare. "I'm sorry," Remus said. "Sorry that she's gone."

He would've rather Remus yelled at him. This startling acceptance of his mistreatment of his friends was worse. James shook his head in disbelief. He'd always known what to do before, had never lacked the confidence to act. But now, everyday decisions like what to say seemed unmanageable.

James leaned down and picked up his bottle, finishing off the last of it, unable to look at any the Marauders except in his peripherals. He threw the bottle against the wall, the shards landing in an alarmingly ordered pile. "Three Broomsticks?" he said, knowing without looking at his watch that it must've been well past midnight. The others stood up silently, whether out of wisdom of not knowing what to say, and followed James out the door.

The silence was overwhelming. He tried to speak, to start a conversation to keep his mind busy, but noise was suddenly incapable of traveling up his vocal cords.  All he could think about was how his mother would react to him being out so late, of how her fake reprimanding smile would make him laugh, of how... how much he missed her.

_Merlin, I need her._

James had taken for granted how much he needed his mother to function. How had he once thought that he was independent, that he didn't need his parents anymore? How had he not seen that their existence allowed him to live, to actually live?

The snow crunched under their feet, and he wished desperately for a distraction. However, it seemed that wishes for James Potter had finally died out.

 

He should've seen it coming.

James heard the blow before he felt it. His jaw was suddenly in agonizing pain, and he could feel one of his teeth beneath his tongue with a sudden flow of blood. Tears stung his eyes, and James kept them tightly closed to stop from crying in pain. He staggered back into Sirius, clutching his jaw.

"See if that'll keep you from talking like you own the place," Rowle spat, rubbing his knuckles from the punch he'd just delivered. His friends laughed loudly behind him, passing around another round of some amber liquid in celebration.

"You'll pay for that," Sirius whispered threateningly, pushing James to his feet and starting forward, wand in hand.

Rowle's mates were quicker than he was, drawing their wands and aiming at Sirius before Rowle even had his hand in his pocket.

"A wager's a wager," one of them said, grinning as James spat blood on the floor. A girl watching cringed as she saw the white of a tooth. Sirius looked furious, and James knew exactly what he was thinking, because he'd be thinking the same thing if their positions were reversed.

"I've got this, Padfoot," James said, clasping Sirius' shoulder as though tagging him out of the ring. Sirius looked at him skeptically, almost pitifully. James wasn't the weakest man on the pitch, Quidditch had given him some muscle to work with, but genetics ultimately took over. James had inherited that thin, almost gangly build of his grandfather instead of the imposing figure of his father. He could give just as good a blow as any bloke, but he was undeniably outmatched by Rowle, who looked as though his mother preferred manticores over men.

Rowle's mates guffawed, sharing knowing glances. "Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, Black," Avery taunted. He glanced briefly at the door behind the counter, but Rosmerta was still getting more kegs. They had plenty of time for Rowle to send James to floor.

"Care to settle your differences like a man?" Rowle asked, standing tall, looking thoroughly satisfied. James knew instantly what he was referring to. If the pair were dueling, there'd be no contest- Rowle knew this, and was trying to steal James' pride by pummeling him with his fists. They were taking advantage of the fact that James had to accept every challenge put in front of him, on dignity grounds alone.

But it was more than that, this time. James could feel the adrenaline and the alcohol pumping through his body, urging him to do something stupid and reckless.  He'd never been one to deny his initial impulses, but this was different.  He felt alive, something he hadn't fully experienced in a while. For once, he wasn't pondering about that day at St. Mungo's, or the inevitable death of his father, or the guilt over the former. It was as if this moment had been cut out of a book and placed in another with blank pages and without the complicated plot twists. This was the now, something that required no thought of the past. He didn't have to think about his losing hand anymore, he could just leave it unattended at the table and walk to another.

James swiveled his jaw slowly, ignoring his bone's protests. "I've got this, Padfoot," he repeated, and this time Sirius understood, or at least enough to move aside.

As Rowle was pushed forward by his mates, James widened his stance, ignoring Remus' shouts about how stupid this was. His one advantage was speed, and he couldn't very well take advantage of that in a corner. The adrenaline was countering the alcohol in his system, and James could see Rowle looking directly as his eyes.

_Maybe it's an intimidation factor?_

**No, it's different... That dumb look on his face means he's seen something significant. Maybe I'm already bruising? I wouldn't doubt it...**

Rowle swung his fist at James head. He ducked, and hit Rowle in the stomach. He faintly heard Remus yelling, "Solar plexus, Prongs! Hit him in the solar plexus!" Rowle doubled over, using the close contact with James to knee him in the chest. James gasped, falling to the floor with Rowle. It was difficult to tell who was winning. James had two blows for every one of his opponent's, but Rowle's punches were twice as difficult to recover from.

James' head banged against the wood floor, the combination of the hardness of the wood and the recent strike to his head making him dizzy. He closed his eyes on reflex, blindly beating Rowle in the face as well. James suddenly felt Rowle's hand on his face, and something in his dizzy brain clicked.

_My glasses._

Too late.  Rowle's hand closed on the side of James' specs, and they went flying across the room. The world became a blur, except for the door which he could see on the opposite end of the bar. James heaved, pushing Rowle off of him by kicking him sharply. He stood up, orienting himself. The massive blur that had to be Rowle by the green jumper he was wearing flew toward James, who dived out of way.

There was a lot of grumbling, as Rowle had apparently barged through the crowd watching.  Lost, James circled blindly on the spot, hoping one of the Marauders had the sense to throw him his glasses or something. Instead, he felt something cold and smooth being shoved into his hand, and a sudden whisper in his ear.

"Play your advantage. Speed and endurance are yours, but one more blow to the head and you might be done for. Don't let him get too close to you. If you hit the right spot, you could win this." His knee was pushed forward as someone nudged him.

The object in his hand were his glasses. James shoved them on his face and turned to see who had whispered their advice to him, but the only saw a group of drunken men rooting him on, and voice had been obviously feminine.

"PRONGS, DUCK!"

He hit the floor, feeling the sudden whisp of air fly over his head. He turned on the spot, and, before Rowle could pin him down, James stuck his kneecap. He dimly remembered hearing that he had been hit by a Bludger there during Quidditch practice yesterday. Rowle howled in pain and crashed to the floor.

"What is going on here?" a voice demanded. James looked up to see Rosmerta clearing a path through the pub. "All of you, get out of my bar! We closed two hours ago, get out of here!" The crowd thinned, everybody making for the exit in case Magical Law Enforcement showed up. Rowle and James exchanged a look of hate before both making for the door.

"Padfoot? Moony? Wormtail?" James called, looking for them in the mass of people. As usual, Peter showed up right beside him almost instantly, and Sirius was struggling his way to them. "Where's Moony?" James asked.

"Found himself a bird," Peter answered. "She got hit by your glasses when Rowle threw them. Moony went to see if she was okay, and I haven't seen him since."

"Nice one, Prongs!" Sirius said, finally reaching them. "Got to say, I'm jealous of that homeless look. Suits you."

"What?" James asked, but then felt the empty space in between two of his front teeth.  "Damn it." He scanned the floor, as if he could find his tooth in the mass of feet leaving, or as if he could somehow just insert it back in.

"James."

He turned around at the sound of his name. Rosmerta was standing where the fight had taken place moments ago with her hands on her hips. "Come here. I can't have you leaving my pub like that, can I?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I can never believe the four of you."

"Reckon you gave us too many Firewhiskeys," Peter said, winking.

"If you tell a soul about that up at Hogwarts, the supply stops, you hear?" she said sternly, beckoning James over and pulling her wand out of her pocket. "Merlin, he really did a number on you, didn't he?"

"You guys can leave," James suggested. "I'll catch up."

"Yeah, you _and_ Moony," Peter said, but made for the door just the same.

"See you later, Beautiful," Sirius said, blowing a kiss at Rosmerta. She laughed, walking behind the counter with a trailing James behind her. James heard the door open and close, and felt the sudden burst of cold air in the pub. He put a hand to his jaw, noticing for the first time in the past ten minutes that his mouth was still bleeding.

Rosmerta leaned behind the counter, rummaging the drawers and cabinets. "Now, what exactly happened here?" she asked exasperatedly as she stood up, holding a bright yellow box. She opened it, pulling out a blue container before standing in front of James. "Sit."

James did as told, sitting on one of the bar stools. She turned his head to the side, tapping her wand on his jaw. She wasn't any Healer, but James suspected that she had done this to enough bar fight victims that she was pretty decent at it.  His jaw certainly hurt less, but was much stiffer. The blood flow had also stopped. Rosmerta gave him a napkin to wipe the remaining blood off his face and opened the blue container to rub the orange cream on his face.

"You know, the usual," James answered with as minimal jaw movement as possible. "Only so many things can happen when you start insulting D.E.W.B.s."

"Dewbs?"

"Death Eater Wanna Bes," he replied evenly. She chuckled, spreading the thick substance across his jaw. "And then Remus tried to pull us back, but that only egged them on, so we were really only defending ourselves."

Rosmerta shook her head again. "I'm sure that's the only side of the story," she said, rolling her eyes. She twisted the lid of the container back on, wiping the remnants on her robes. "How about a drink for the road, James?"

"Yeah, alright," he said, standing up and pulling out a couple Sickles as she started fixing something behind the bar.

"No, no, don't worry about it. This is on the house," she insisted, handing him a fizzing bottle. "Drink it slowly."

 

Despite her warning, James threw his head back and chugged it.  He could only take about three swallows, though, before his eyes began to water.  He banged the bottle on the table, grimacing.  “What is that?”

“Little of this, little of that,” she responded, communicating that it was certainly something James, still sixteen, wasn’t supposed to be drinking.  He nodded in thanks.  He turned to leave but halted at her next words.

“How are you holding up?”

And just like that, the warmth of adrenaline disappeared and he was left with the coldness of reality.  He stood in the middle of her pub, staring back at her with a sense of helplessness.  “Fine,” he lied.  She seemed to accept it, though, but she poured a glass of mead with the air of being too tired to fight his answer.

“Come have a drink with me,” she said, apparently changing her mind. James decided that, since she had accepted his lie, he at least owed her that.  He sat down for the third time that night, and chinked drinks with her. “Cheers.”

He eyed her glass as he sipped his carefully.  “What’re you drinking?”

“Mulled mead,” she said, surveying the half-empty glass.  “Want a drink?”

He nodded, taking the glass from her.  The liquid slid down his throat thickly and thoroughly, and James gave it back reluctantly.  The alcohol settled in his stomach, but not with the same satisfaction as it had before she had asked him how he was doing.  He was sorely reminded of the blissfulness of forgetfulness, something he seemed only able to do when he was in a fight.

Or maybe…

Gripped by a surge of recklessness, James commented casually, “Wonder what tastes better- your drinks or you?”  She eyed him over the top of her glass, her face impassive.  She was gorgeous, and James was sure she knew it- bars were congregating grounds for single men.  Sirius and James had flirted with her relentlessly before, but they had always been politely turned down.  

Rosmerta put the top of her glass down, and walked around the counter.  He was suddenly struck by the fact that she had to be at least five years his senior.   James looked up at her from his sitting position, though not my much.  Despite the age difference, he knew that he was finally taller than her now. He took his hand off of his bottle in anticipation of her reply as her stomach touched his knees.  

“You’ve had much better lines than that,” she said.

“You’ve never come this close before,” James taunted.

She leaned forward, and James could tell that she was battling with herself.  He was a customer.  He was a student.  He was underage.  But all of this seemed to be outbalanced by something else, because, with a sudden rush of confidence, she kissed him.

It was obvious that this wasn’t from love or even a fancy.  This was the result of desperation and need and an understanding that sometimes, life was only worth living if you could forget what life entailed.  Sometimes, you just wanted to lose yourself in something that was the crux of life, but had nothing to do with it at the same time.

To be short, sometimes you just wanted to lose yourself by snogging the hell out of somebody.

He stood up from the stool, keeping their lips as close together as possible.  The apparent height difference wasn’t a problem, though, and James pressed her against the bar, transitioning from a kiss to a snog.  Rosmerta didn’t protest, pulling his hair as he trapped her between his body and the bar. James’ hand slid down her side as hers moved from his temple to his cheek to his-

He pulled away with a hiss as she touched his jaw.  She retracted her hand quickly, apologizing without words.  Neither one of them seemed to be able to use verbal communication at this point anyway.  James nodded at her, more as a comrade than someone he had just snogged.  Both were breathing heavily, but they mutually decided to ignore it. James walked towards the door, grabbed his cloak hanging from the rack on the way, and left without his drink.

And, as was walking to Honeydukes’ secret passageway, James wondered what it was like to snog someone with orange paste covering their jaw and a missing front tooth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**A/N: Been a while.  I lost my motivation, school, tests, yada yada yada.  Sorry if the formatting is a bit effed, but I just spend an hour trying to fix it, and, frankly, I'm frustrated.**

**For those of you who are getting bored with depressed James, he WILL recover, this phase is just essential to his character later, so I sorta need to include it.  I enjoy writing it anyways, I hope you enjoy reading it!  Reviews make my insanely unproductive day have some justification, so, please!**


	5. Calling the Bluff

January passed slowly. Not that James much noticed the calendar anymore, but he could tell it was still January because of the thick layers of snow that covered the grounds and soaked his robes when he snuck out to the Hogsmeade villlage. He could tell because the bars were still crowded, and almost always with the usual unoccupied, bored people of winter, itching for something entertaining. He could tell because when he hit the wooden floor from the latest punch or curse, it was cold and wet from the entering boots. He could tell because at the end of a fight outside, when the woman would whisper comments such as “Perhaps you’re not as pathetic as I thought, Potter” or “Savour it while it lasts”, he could see her breath out of the corner of his eye. It had to be January, because he’d been able to catch a glimpse of a thick black cloak with the hood up, and only in January could one go around unnoticed in one.

But most of all, James knew it was January because the few times that he did attend class that month, Dorcas Meadowes could not stop talking about Lily Evans’ birthday party.

Dorcas was Lily’s best mate, from what James could tell, and she had also been Sirius’ girlfriend up until Christmas vacation. Dorcas must’ve known that Sirius had been close to Mrs. Potter, because she was certainly giving him space, but even Remus had confessed he had no idea where they stood. Sirius wasn’t really flirting with other girls, but, then again, he seemed to be spending most of his time trying to cheer James up.

“Mate, come on, let’s get Snivellus after class,” Sirius said, chopping rat spleen. Remus had reminded him three times that the potion didn’t call for any rat spleen, but it was obvious that Sirius was just doing it to look productive.

“No,” James said quickly. “Don’t you think that we’re above that, now?”

“What is that supposed to mean? ‘We’re above that’? Merlin, you sound like Evans, Prongs.”

“Come off it. I just mean that we’ve been taking on way bigger guys at Hogsmeade. Why don’t we go _there_ after class?” As soon as James spoke, the other Marauders shared a look that he knew meant the rest of the conversation had been practically scripted.

“You’ve been going there a lot lately,” Peter said monotonously. Remus rolled his eyes.James nodded, deciding to stir the potion before him for the hell of it.

“So?”

“I don’t think it’s the best way for you to handle you’re grief, James,” Remus confessed, taking control of the situation.

“Getting drunk, getting in fights all the bloody time. It’s not healthy.”

James resisted the urge to whirl around in his chair. “You were fine with it before!”

“Yeah, well.... I thought it was going to be a one-time thing. But then you just kept going, and you’ve gotten a bit knocked up, Prongs.”He could suddenly feel the ache in his stomach, where a curse had hit him yesterday.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Moony. I’m fine.” He could not remember saying something so resoundingly untrue.

“I agree with Remus.”Surprisingly, it was neither Peter nor Sirius who said it, but Lily Evans. She turned around in her chair to face James from across the aisle, completely unabashed that she had been eavesdropping.

“Who asked you?” James heard himself asking.

“I thought that maybe you’d like another perspective,” she said carefully. James gave up stirring the potion, which was supposed to be maroon and was instead evergreen. It was apparant that they weren’t trying.

“I don’t, but thanks for thinking of me.” He meant it to come across bitter and resentful, but instead it came out sincere and pitiful. He inwardly winced.

Lily turned around to make sure that Slughorn was still busy helping Quincy Waverly with his potion, and scooted her chair next to James’. He looked up to tell her off, but instead he was only stunned by her grasping his hand. He waited for the inevitable electric shock to slide up his arm, or the sudden warmth to envelop his fingers, but instead her hand seemed nothing more than dead weight. He couldn’t focus on what she was saying, he was too distracted by the lack of feeling and the peeling paint off her fingernails. James remembered thinking how cool it was that she never fixed herself up while talking to someone, the way other girls did, as if their beauty maintenence was the same priority as anything their friends had to say. Now, James wondered that he ever noticed that at all.

Anger flared inside of him, furious that this grief had taken so much. He didn’t feel anything except this overwhelming sorrow and regret, it had stolen every other emotion inside of him. He felt ridiculous for taking this so badly; he had known that his mother was going to die for some time now, he should’ve been prepared, he should have braced himself somehow. He should have played his hand for what it was, instead of going for this outrageous bluff of a perfect reality. Like everyone else, his bluff had to be called sometime. He didn’t know why he had once thought himself above it.

“... I understand why you want to wallow in this, but-”

The classroom suddenly came back at full focus, and her words were very clear and audible. “You understand? How could you possibly understand?” His voice achieved the desired effect this time. It was sharp and bitter, and perhaps anyone but Lily would have taken the hint. Instead, her hand remained where it was.Lily always had a way of shaking the emotion out of him, positive or negative. The fury he suddenly felt rise up within him was misdirected and unfounded, but he still wanted to yell at her. She didn’t know. There was no way she could know what he was feeling. James’ problem wasn’t regular teenage moodiness. Lily might have been down or depressed once in a while, but did she have any idea what it felt like to dream about a dead mother every night?

And then James recalled the beginning of last year, where Lily had become withdrawn and apathetic, where requests for a date were not met with a shouting match but with a resigned refusal. It was when Remus had received better grades on Charms tests than her, when Dorcas never seemed to leave her side, when she had refused to read the _Daily Prophet_. She hadn’t sucked on Sugar Quills, and she couldn’t be found in the library, only in her dormitory, between classes. Her hair had lacked its usual smooth glean of care, and her eyes that had burned so vivaciously before had become rather dull. She had arrived to class two minutes late rather than two minutes early, and charm bracelet that she had used to wear all the time had been suddenly “lost” over the summer holidays. These were things that most people hadn’t noticed, but James had asked about each one, and always received touchy glares in return. He and Sirius had collectively attributed it to PMS, but now James felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“Where’s the James Potter that confronts every feeling, who doesn’t avoid any issue?”

James didn’t say anything when he stared back at Lily. The moment was meant to be one of understanding, but James got the sense it was more awkward than anything else. He swallowed, opening his mouth to say something, but the bell rang. It wasn’t jarring, it was as if this interruption was scripted, as if he had known that the bell would prevent him from saying anything. Because, really, how could he possibly respond to this revelation?

Lily nodded in a way of good-bye. He didn’t notice when her hand left his.The Marauders were the last to leave the classroom, so James could only barely see Dorcas and Lily at the head of the lunch crowd, Amos Diggory’s arm around the latter. He ruffled his hair, barely hearing Sirius’ words.

“Come on, Snivellus isn’t gonna go to lunch, Prongs, he’ll head off to the library like the reclusive git he is. We can get him there, come on, it’ll be fun.”

“No.” His tone was final, and, while Peter accepted it instantly and Sirius looked disappointed, James saw Remus beam proudly for only a moment. Even though James knew Remus was only guessing as to his motives, he knew they were right. He wasn’t handling his mother’s death right. What Lily said was true, he should be dealing with this directly, not hiding it beneath alcohol and fights and snogs from older women.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” James said. He shoved his way through the crowd, looking for a sign of Lily, whether it be red hair or a useless pretty boy or a gossipping best friend. It was a role he knew, a game he played numerous times before, except now it wasn’t about a date in Hogsmeade, it was about something bigger. He felt as if all these revelations had happened so quickly, but, just like the bell to end Potions, his next words were scripted.“Lily, can we talk?”

She turned, and James knew exactly what came next. Because, even if she still detested him, even if she thought that he was immature and stupid for skipping class, or a perfect little rich boy that didn’t know how to deal with anything bad in his life, that wouldn’t change what she said next. She was too caring, too nice to ever consider turning him down on this proposal. James might not believe in a dealer for this game anymore, but he still believed that all cards had a set value, that they all were made to be played a certain way.

“Yeah, okay, James. Just let me grab a sandwich or something first, okay?”

He nodded, but backed away from the Great Hall doors. He wasn’t hungry. The Marauders tried to coax him to lunch as they passed, but he waved them off. He leaned against the stone walls, watching as the last stragglers to lunch went through the doors. Several girls tried to make eye contact with him, but he ignored them. Lily came out a few minutes later, sandwich in hand.

“Do you want a bite?”

“I’m fine.”

Lily grimaced, letting James know that she didn’t believe it.

“Do you mind walking?” he asked.

“No, let’s go.”

They left the castle, but the cold wet drizzle of January forced them back inside before either could really say anything. They settled for walking along the corridors instead, James’ hand running along the grooves in the stone as Lily ate her sandwich. She had just finished when James had gathered up the nerve to start.“How’d it happen?”

“How did what happen?”

“You know... who died last year?”

Lily broke eye contact gradually, staring at the floor. “My mum. It was a car crash... It’s like a Muggle thing that they use to get around. Anyway, my mum’s car ran into someone else’s and...” She didn’t have to finish her sentence. James didn’t really know what a car was, or how a car crash worked, but he knew that it had killed Lily’s mother. “It was so quick,” Lily said. “It was over holiday, and I was fighting with my sister, and then my dad came in and told us. She was fine that morning, she was totally normal. She made breakfast for us everything. And then she just... wasn’t there anymore.” But before James could say anything else, Lily looked him in the eye. “Your turn.”

James swallowed and blinked slowly. His voice sounded muffled at first, but it cleared as he went on. “It wasn’t quick. I mean, when she actually died it was... quick, but it started when I was thirteen. She started coughing more, and then she started going in and out of St. Mungo’s. My mum... she was so _old_. I just... She wasn’t ready to go. I wasn’t ready to let her go. Nothing good came out of her death, there wasn’t some larger purpose or anything. She was my mum and now she’s dead! She’s-” He could feel the tears building up in his eyes, and he cut himself off to avoid any embarrassment. Lily was noticeably checking if he was crying, so he turned away.“I miss her,” he whispered. “I didn’t see my mum that much, but it was more that I could’ve if I wanted to, you know?”Lily grabbed his arm, stopping him in his path. He instinctively turned, and a second later her arms were wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry that your mum is dead, James. She sounded like a great woman.”

“She was.” He hated that he had to use the past tense now to describe her. That dreadful “ed” had been attached to everything he said about her now, instead of that comforting, casual “s”.

“You can cry if you want to,” Lily suggested.

“What?” he pulled away, blinking away the tears, trying to grin. “I don’t want to cry, okay? Especially-”

“Especially what? Especially in front of me? Because I’m a girl and you’re supposed to be the big, macho guy that holds it all in and comforts the girl when she cries? Well, I’m not crying, James. I’m just as hurt by my mother’s death as you are, and it doesn’t really go away. You just compensate, you just keep going. But I did cry James, and you can’t-”

“I’m not crying, okay? I’m fine, I don’t need to cry,” he insisted, walking away. His strides were much longer than hers, and she was left trailing behind him.

“Come on, come back,” Lily called.

“No.”

“Potter! James!”

“Go away.”

“Don’t be a dolt! Tell me what’s wrong!”

“Why don’t you ask the Giant Squid?” he replied, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he saw a flash of Lily in emerald green dress robes, of Remus holding a rabbit, falling down the Astronomy Tower, a bat flying across the moon, and his mother’s body flying through the water...He stopped and turned.

“How did you know?”

“How did I know what?” she asked, her face perplexed.

“I dreamed this, this conversation. It happened in a dream.”

“What? Are you okay, James?”She grasped his hand, but she had no superhuman force like she did in the dream. She was not trying to lead him anywhere, and he didn’t want to go with her. But the strength of her hand was not physical might, it was that James could feel the smallest shock shoot up to his elbow.

“No,” he admitted on impulse. “But I can’t be. Right now.”

Lily let go of his hand and he walked away. He didn’t know if she stood there and watched him round the corner, but, despite the shock, he found he didn’t care.

But the power of her hand lasted, all through his classes and dinner, and the evening Exploding Snap game he played with Peter, making him think that maybe he could get over this the right way. That maybe there could be more to his life, that he could go back to normal.The shock lasted until he fell asleep and he saw his mother’s empty eyes. It lasted until he woke up in a with sweat sticking him to the sheets, with tears running down his face. It lasted until he had to accept another sleepless night, until he had to accept the coldness of reality and the stone floor as his feet touched it.

The next few hours became a blur. He wasn’t sure what truly destroyed his memory of the morning, the alcohol or the pink crystals that one of his companions called “Puff the Magic Dragon”. Or maybe it was the bottle that shattered against his skull, or the impact of the wall when a curse had thrown him back. But for some reason he remembered _her_ words.

“You can’t win this.”

“Surprising. You prove more determined than I previously thought.”

“He can’t breathe very well, can he?”

“You didn’t even need my help with that one.”

“Be creative, Potter, don’t go for the obvious.”

He remembered climbing up the passageway with a cut lip and a bruised hand. He remembered thinking that he really should have some Quidditch practice soon. He remembered entering the Common Room at five in the morning and Dorcas Meadowes fussing over his lip.

James recalled her talking about her problems with Sirius to him. He recalled her at least attempting to heal his injuries.

What James didn’t recall was how she ended up in his bed the next morning.

 

**a/n: Again, it's been a while.  But I basically dedicated my whole day to finishing this, so.... WOOTAGE FOR YOU GUYS! Okay, I know I never read these, and I never listen to authors when they say leave reviews, but you all want to be better people than me, right?**


	6. Across the Table

Sirius Black and James Potter were incredibly similar.  Even on appearance alone, when the pair smiled identical mischievous grins, one could easily see how they might be mistaken for brothers.  Sirius was clearly the older one, but they were close for sure.  
But once people had a chance to observe them, certain behaviors were impossible to miss.  Both pushed limits, were ridiculously reckless, took almost everything as a joke, were alarmingly disrespectful, loyal, brave, and both refused to lose.  There was a reason that when teams were chosen, whether it be for wizard’s chess, snowball fights, or Quidditch, that people demanded Sirius and James be on opposing teams.  The two together were unstoppable.  It was a great feat to claim victory of either of them, but no one was stupid enough to try it with the pair.  Anyone who boasted to beat Sirius and James at Gobstones was instantly brushed off.

It was rare that they chose opposite sides.  In any argument or sport they supported their comrade.  The few occasions that they met as opponents, not teammates, never ended well.  Their personalities were too intense, too explosive.  To avoid a row, Sirius and James had silently agreed who had the advantage in certain areas.

James had Quidditch- but only because Sirius didn’t practice, of course.  It had nothing to do with James’ talent.

Sirius had girls- but only because James was focused on Lily, obviously.  Sirius’ superior looks were irrelevant.

Wizards' chess went to James.  Sirius claimed he didn’t have the patience for it.  The fact that James’ dad had been playing with him since he was six had no weight.

Exploding Snap went to Sirius.  James justified his losses by the fogging of his glasses every time they played.  Bellatrix’s childhood taunting of her cousin and his “slow reflexes” were apparently nonexistent.

It was arguments, however, that never truly settled.  It was almost unheard of for the two to have an actual dispute.  Any minor disagreement was pushed aside, deemed unworthy to interfere with their friendship immediately.

But their largest dispute went unspoken.  It was left to fester and grow.  Their previous “disagreements” had always been expressed, whether through words or fists.  The death of Mrs. Potter had made James almost unreachable in a way, as if there was a barrier or something between them.  Sirius didn’t know how to push James anymore, and James seemed unwilling to force anything on anyone.

This lack of interaction was both horrendous and lucky.  Because of this, it would save lives and endanger others.  It would expose flaws and intentions.  It would challenge all four of the Marauders.  It would only reinforce the idea that James and Sirius should never sit across the table from each other, no matter the game.

She was lying on top of him, her hair splayed across his bare chest.  He could feel their naked bodies touching, her sinful heat radiating under the blanket.  The curtains around his bed were tightly shut, and James could tell from the lack of relaxed breathing or sudden snoring that a Silencing Charm had been cast.  He could feel various clothing items under the sheets, but not enough to adequately cover both of them.  Clothes had to be littering the edge of his bed.  He dimly registered it was Saturday.

He looked down at Dorcas- his glasses were still on his face, oddly enough, so he could see her fine.  Her face was peaceful enough, but he knew that was no indication of her sleep.  He moved his arm slowly so as to not wake her and reached out beyond the scarlet curtains.  The bedside table was empty, not even his wand interrupted the smooth surface of the wood.  James fumbled through the drawer, until he found what he was looking for.

It was the watch his dad had given him for the Christmas, the one he had worn in that room.  That was the first thought that crossed his head, or actually the first feeling that seeped through his consciousness.  That familiar wave of despair and an automatic clenching of the watch.  He hadn’t looked at it since the day he left for Hogwarts, since he had debated about whether or not to bring it all, since he had pitched it into his bedside drawer without consideration.

The second feeling was alarm, because he realized that it was past four in the afternoon.  He had slept all day, as had Dorcas, apparently, and he wondered why the Marauders had not woken him.  But then he remembered that clothes must’ve been sprawled across the floor, and he figured it out fairly easily from there.

She shifted on top of him, and he instantly stiffened.  He hadn’t had that much experience with the whole “morning after” scene.  The only girl he’d really been with was a friend of the family’s, and there had never been that expectation with them.  What was he supposed to say to her, especially when he couldn’t remember a thing?

And then her eyes opened wide.  She blinked, her eyelashes scraping his skin.  Neither of them moved, both seeming contemplating what to say.  Finally, Dorcas turned her head and looked up at him.  She was biting her lip, her worried eyes waiting for him to speak.  

He took his cue. “I’ll get out first, ‘kay? And then we can get dressed and talk.”  

“Right,” she said, sliding her body off of his.  He climbed out of the bed awkwardly, trying to cover himself as much as possible, and balance himself through a throbbing headache. He scrambled for his clothes on the floor, settling for his boxers and trousers, not bothering to compare the two white shirts on the floor.  He closed the door to the bathroom behind him, hearing his bed creak slightly as Dorcas no doubt looked for her own clothes. Pulling his boxers on, he turned towards the mirror and sighed.

There was a large bruise on his side, beginning just above his ribs and ending right below his hip.  It was too large for him to have knocked into something; he reckoned he had probably been tackled to the floor sometime last night.  He leaned in front of the mirror, examining his face.  His lip was healing nicely, mostly the work of Dorcas’ amateur spell work as far he could remember.  There was a large cut on the back of his shoulder, not quite a gash but more than a scrape, obviously the effect of a curse from its curved, graceful nature.  But on his shoulder blade there were four scratches, not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to remain hours later... fingernails.

_Fuck._

He had been so tossed last night, he had to have been.  He had shagged Dorcas Meadowes, Lily’s best mate, not to mention Sirius’... whatever she was.  He doubted Sirius would care, he’d never really cared about her anyway.  Sirius was constantly on about how easy she was to bang, but now James knew just how easy she was. But he could bet that any chance he had had with Lily would be out the window once she found out about this.

Did he even care? He didn’t want to be with Lily anyway, right? That shock up his hand could’ve been a fluke.  And Lily had a boyfriend, she was clearly off limits.  It wasn’t as if he was  _reserved_ for her or something, he could still be with girls if he wanted to.  She wasn’t with him, hell, she didn’t even like him.  So, he shouldn’t feel guilty on that end.

Right?

He glanced at the door, wondering if Dorcas dressed yet.  Wishing he’d brought his shirt with him into the bathroom, James decided to chance it.  He opened the door slowly, giving her plenty of time to tell him to back up.  When he heard no objection, he entered the room with what he hoped was a casual expression.

It seemed that Dorcas didn’t really give a Knut about modesty, because she was still buttoning up her shirt facing him, giving him a nice view of her lace bra.  She must’ve known that he was staring at her, she was Dorcas Meadowes with a pair of C’s.  But her face only wore the expression that he hoped he was wearing, a resigned, almost bored look.

Which meant she was probably as freaked out as he was.

They stood in silence for a moment as James ruffled his hair and she fixed her last button with deliberate slowness.  She sighed, and James nodded to himself before deciding to man up already.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, really, I was just as much a part of-”

“I should’ve stopped it, but I was just-”

“-so drunk, I know, I was the one who took advantage of you-”

“Don’t be daft, it’s my fault-”

“No, this whole fiasco is my doing.  Not that it was a bad, you were actually brilliant for being so tossed...”

“Dorcas, you can’t blame- Wait, I was brilliant?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed.  “Yeah, you were okay.  But I hardly think that’s going to matter to Sirius or Lily.”

The smile rolled off his face.  “I don’t think Padfoot is going to care all too much, honestly,” he said without thinking.

Dorcas looked at the ground, biting her lip.  “No, I guess not,” she conceded, her voice bitter and hurt.  “In that case, Lily doesn’t have to know, if you don’t want me to tell her. And you can tell Sirius, really, I don’t give a damn what he thinks about me anyway, not after last night, not after _Marlene McKinnon_....”

“What about Marlene?” James asked.

She stared at him expectantly for a moment, and then her expression cleared.  “Oh, right, I’m sure you don’t remember... I walked in on them.  Sirius and Marlene.  That’s why I was up so late, I was.... thinking. And I know he’s your best mate and all, but.... he’s a bastard, he didn’t even break up with me first, you know? And then he has the nerve to tell me it’s over, like I was an idiot for not seeing this coming! Like I was supposed to expect this, as if I have no right to be angry at all-”  She stopped suddenly, as the door opened.

“Finally, Prongs, we were beginning to wonder if you were ever gonna wake up... Oh, hey, Dorcas. Have fun last night?”  Sirius stepped into the room, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  Dorcas looked away from him, apparently ignoring him as she slipped on her shoes.  But at his last remark, she froze, her mouth dropping in astonishment.

“Yes,” she responded, composing herself.  “Yes, I _did_ , Sirius, since I was newly _single_ , I could do things like that, couldn’t I? But thanks for your concern, really, I enjoyed myself very much.  More than I ever did with you, anyway.”

“Hey! That was below the belt!” Sirius objected, clearly pleased with his pun.  “Stop being such a bitch because you didn’t realize it was over.  I told you last night, I’m sorry I didn’t spell it out for you, but I thought I was being perfectly clear by not hanging out with you... at all.”

It was the sort of comment that James knew Sirius didn’t mean as cruel as it sounded, but, for the first time in James’ memory, he felt himself siding against his best mate.  Dorcas wiped just below her eye, flicking her fingers like some invisible fleck of dirt had been bugging her, but James recognized the beginnings of tears.  He opened his mouth to say something, but Dorcas interrupted him.

“Go fuck yourself, Black!”

“I don’t have to, Dorcas, I’ve got-”

But James knew what was coming next, knew what was about to come out of his friend’s mouth, so he called over him, “Maybe you should just leave, Dorcas.”  
She nodded, leaving the room quickly and blinking rapidly.  As soon as she closed the door, Sirius rolled his eyes.

“God, she’s ridiculous.  I can’t believe she didn’t get we were over, you know? It’s not like I was sending mixed signals, I mean, I was avoiding her.  And Marlene and I weren’t exactly secretive, you know, Prongs?”

“Well, it’s not like you told her, mate. You could’ve talked to her, told her straight up.  You can hardly blame her for being pissed,” James said, knowing that, despite his words, he’d be publicly defending Sirius tomorrow.  They were best mates, and you didn’t stop being loyal to your best mate just because they were morons.

Sirius plopped down on his bed, folding his arms behind his head. “You’re just saying that because she said you were a better shag.”

“No, really, Padfoot.  I think she has a point,” he continued.

“You would’ve done the same thing in my place,” Sirius said, playing cool but James could feel the fight brim.  “Would’ve” didn’t mean if James had a girlfriend.  “Would’ve” meant before, before when his mother was alive and he was careless and the lines between Sirius and James hadn’t been so clearly defined.

“I wouldn’t do that,” James said, but feeling the uncertainty in his throat.  He knew he could never cheat on a girl, but Sirius hadn’t really cheated on Dorcas either.  In Sirius’ eyes, at least, they’d been broken up.  But James could very easily see his past self not bothering to inform a bird, especially a bird he was just with for fun, like Dorcas was to Sirius, that they were over.  And now James saw that that wasn’t right at all, that it was morally wrong, that the line between him and Sirius was becoming bolder and bolder with every word spoken.

Sirius snorted in disbelief, but decided to change the subject. “When are you gonna have Quidditch practice? Troy was badgering me about it yesterday at lunch.”

“Today,” James declared, feeling very much like flying.  “The weather’s fantastic for it, anyhow.”

“The team know about this?”

“No,” he answered, gathering his Quidditch robes out of his trunk.

“Hmmm. Explains why they were so chipper today at breakfast,” he said, looking out the window as the rain lashed at the glass with an unexplained ferocity.  

The team hit the soft ground with even softer legs; they’d been flying for hours, but it was the “warm-up” that had truly exhausted them.  Push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, all the other ups.  And laps, a seemingly endless demand of laps.  But as the team grumbled, they had to agree- James had pushed them, which meant he was coming back to them.  Even if it was slowly, even if he had pushed them much harder than they could ever recall.  Emmeline Vance said he was probably using them as a way to channel his grief.  Lizzy Bennet confessed that was better than bar fights.

It had stopped raining hours ago, but the cold dampness still hung in the air.  James slung his broom behind his shoulders, in no hurry to get to the changing rooms.  The longer he was out here, the longer he could still focus on Quidditch.  His whole day had been full of distractions- Dorcas, then Sirius, and now Quidditch.  He didn’t want to know what would happen if he stopped.  Right now, his mind was busy, barred from contemplating grief.

But as the rest of the team walked ahead to the comforts of a warm shower, another distraction came in his path.  Lizzy Bennet stayed behind with him, her own broom held at her side.  James would wonder if she was just another  _Witch Weekly_  girl, but she had been flirting with him long before Christmas Holiday.

“You’re a really great Captain, James,” she said, grinning.  “I think that you drive everybody really well.  Even Troy listens to you, that’s something.”

James smiled.  “Thanks, Lizzy.”  He’d heard this before.

“And Emmeline- she wasn’t even late to practice today.”  At least that was new.  But he had a feeling that had less to do with him as a Captain and more to do with the fact that he hadn’t had practice in over a month.

“Yeah.  Bloody shocker.”

“And I- I don’t think I’ve ever seen the moon that big before, have you?”

James looked up, his heart dropping.  The full moon shone upon them, reflecting clearly in James’ glasses.  It was dark, but not dark enough that Remus changed yet.  They weren’t in any immediate danger, but, _damnit_ , he’d forgotten all about the full moon.  Moony would be traveling to the Whomping Willow any minute now with the matron, and he as well as the rest of the Marauders should’ve already been on their way.

“No, I don’t think I have either,” he replied naturally.  “Hey, could you do me a favor?  Tell the team they did a great job today, that we won’t have practice until next week.  Oh, and take my broom to the shed, will you? Be careful with it.  I’m gonna head up early, I’ll shower in the dorm.”

“Okay, no problem, James. Bye,” she said as she took his broom from him.  He nodded in thanks and took off towards the castle.

He saw a pair crossing the grounds; one of them was clearly Remus.  James ran the long way around, using bushes for cover.  It would only be awkward as Remus fumbled for some fake excuse for the sake of the matron.  Besides, from the way that Remus kept glancing over his shoulder, James could tell that the other Marauders weren’t at the Willow yet either, and he was waiting for the Entrance Hall door to inexplicably open for an invisible force.

James entered the castle, noticing the rapidly darkening skyline.  He didn’t have much time.  The corridors were mostly deserted, only a few stragglers who were heading up to their common rooms after a late dinner, but curfew was in place for all those under fifth year.  He took several secret passageways, only being spotted by Nearly Headless Nick - “Mr. Potter, Claire Davens was just looking for you”- and McGonagoll- “Potter! You haven’t been in my class for a week!  We need to talk!”  Both were brushed off, though he did reluctantly agree to meet with her on Tuesday.

“Fire crabs,” James said loudly as he approached the Fat Lady.  She swung open for him to reveal a packed common room, with Sirius and Peter nowhere to be seen.  Dorcas was sitting by the fire with Lily Evans and Alice Logan, but she didn’t look particularly upset, so Sirius hadn’t been there recently at any rate.  James checked the boys’ dorms, but nobody was up there except Frank Longbottom and Gideon Prewett. While Gideon was in the bathroom, and Frank ran downstairs as soon as James mentioned Alice was in the Common Room, James checked his trunk.  Right there at the bottom was the Invisibility Cloak, so they hadn’t left yet.  If only they’d finished the Map...

“Argh!”

He jolted, turning and closing the trunk in the same motion. They were laughing behind him, Sirius his usual bark and Peter’s a low giggle.  James rolled his eyes, ashamed at his own jumpiness.  “Ha ha, very funny,” he said sarcastically, standing up.

“You’d laugh too, Prongs, if you saw your face! Jesus, you’d think you were expecting a Death Eater or something,” Peter pointed out, lounging at the foot of Remus’ bed.

“Come on, Prongs, Death Eaters don’t just walk around here,” Sirius joked.  “This isn’t the Slytherin dorm.”  He made his way over to the window, popping it open so he could lean his head out.  “Speaking of Slytherins.... well, since you haven’t been up to pranking lately, Prongs, I did one for you.”

James joined him at the window, staring at the empty grounds.  “I don’t see anything.”

“Well, it hasn’t started yet, dolt,” Sirius said obviously.  “He’ll be out in a minute.”

“We don’t have time to sit here and wait, we have to get to Moony,” Peter advised, though trying to see out the window anyways.

Sirius waved it off.  “Moony will be fine for a little while.  Besides, I have to make sure that he goes through with it, and I can only do it outside the Shack.”

“He?” James asked.

“Snivellus,” Sirius answered, again as if it was a stupid question.

“Mate, we really should-”

“Shhh! There he is!”

A figure came out of the castle, running across the grounds and looking nervously over his shoulder.  Despite the moonlight, he couldn’t see who it was clearly this far away.  The figure hit a dark patch where none of them could see anything, before emerging behind a bush, clearly heading in the direction of...

“The Willow?” James asked, perplexed.  “Who did you find that was dumb enough to go near the Willow in the dark?”

“Snivellus,” Sirius answered, the grin apparent both on his face and in his voice.

“What?” Peter said, and James understood the confusion in his tone.  As much as he loathed Snape, he knew that he wasn’t an idiot, that he was actually quite smart.  And, regardless of Snape’s intelligence, even first years knew by this time of the year that the Whomping Willow was violent.  Snape had been here for six years, surely he knew of the tree’s reputation.

“I’m going to get him.  What a fucking wanker,” James said, taking off to the door, but Sirius grabbed his shoulder.

“No, Prongs, you don’t get it.  I baited him, the idiot’s gonna meet the real Moony tonight.”  He laughed slightly, turning back the window.  “Let’s see if he’s such a bother once he’s seen a real werewolf. I can’t wait to see his face tomorrow, that bastard’s gonna get what coming to him- Whoa, where you going?”

But James couldn’t hear him.  His ears had stopped listening as soon as he said that Snape was going to see a real werewolf, as soon as his mind had put together the puzzle pieces.  He didn’t remember opening the door or taking the stairs four at a time, he didn’t remember pushing people wildly out of his way, practically bursting through the portrait hole, or which passageway he took to get to the lower floors so fast.  What he did remember was glancing out the window as he flew down the Grand Staircase and seeing the Willow freeze.

And then he was running again, sprinting faster than he ever had in his life.  He couldn’t feel his body’s exhausted protests as he moved his legs up again and again, as his arms pumped faster yet.  He bounded down the stairs in front of the entrance, his knees numb to the impact radiating up.  He did not hear Sirius or Peter scream at him from the Tower, but he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

The Willow was moving again, its branches thrashing wildly.  He didn’t know how he made it through the sea of heavy limbs, an impossible task, but he couldn’t comprehend anything except that this was a life in danger, a real human life that could be shattered.  It didn’t matter whose life or what he’d have to do to save it.  Hell, if he was going to die saving Snape-

The thought of death chilled him, he couldn’t deny it, but it didn’t slow his frantic pace through the tunnel.  It didn’t decrease his motivation, didn’t cool his blood.  Nothing could stop him, thought James as he came to the hole in the Shrieking Shack, pulling out his wand.  Nothing, because there was a life at stake, and that was all that mattered.

**A/N: Review? Please? Can I take three seconds of your life to make my day? Seriously, I did this instead of my summer homework, and now that school has started... come on, you can at least give me a review, right?**


	7. Lucky Knight

As a consequence for being the child of elderly people who often invited more elderly people over, James had to put up with lots of advice.  Old men and women would look back on their own lives, on their own regrets, and decide to impart some sort of wisdom upon the child in front of them, because _surely_  the next generation would learn from their mistakes.  Most of it was useless and vague drivel.

"You'll never figure out women, don't even try."

"Stay in school and don't do drugs.  And stay abstinent."

"Never fear anything except the fear of... the fear of... Or is it...? Well, never mind, just don't fear anything, lad!" 

His father gave him useful advice, at least.

"There's always a way to win, James. Always."

"Don't take shit from anybody, even if you get fucked up the arse for retaliating." He had told his son this at the age of six.  His mother provided an hour long counter-lesson that never stuck.

"There is a line between right and wrong, James, but one man's right is another man's wrong.  Find you side of the line and stick to it like a phoenix to flame."

But while Harold Potter favored  the direct approach, knowing that his son's attention could only be held for so long, Charlotte preferred to give out her wisdom in cryptic analogies.  Anything that pertained to daily life could be made brief- "Never curse in front of a woman, James"- but subjects that dealt with real meaning were drawn out.  She was under the impractical impression that it was better if her son figured out the lesson for himself, so it would stick with him longer.

Later in life, she would be under the impression that James was studying French with Valerie in his bedroom for an hour.

But however misguided Charlotte's attempts were, they did at least succeed at occupyingJames' mind for five minutes.  They were forgotten after that, but, even if he could not recall the exact wording of one of her analogies, he did remember the circumstances.

He had been running upstairs to get his broom to play Quidditch with some neighborhood boys when his mother had called him into the dining room.  She was drinking a glass of wine and playing with her gray curls.  In front of her was a closed file, one James recognized to be from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by the magenta label.  She had turned to him, abandoning the chess game that she was playing with his father.

"You know, James- most people are pawns.  Forever trying to promote, to make something of themselves.  But hardly any ever make it to the other end of the board, do they, honey? Most are used for other pieces to travel forward, thrown aside before they reach their potential.  They deserve to try, though.  Every pawn deserves to stay on that board for as long as possible, and it is a horrendous thing to take one off, or to watch someone else do so.  You have to make an effort to salvage every piece.  You must be willing to save every pawn, knight, or bishop, even if they are black and you are white."

James' father had rolled his eyes and gestured for him to go and play.  At the time, James had only been thankful that it was his father who taught him chess, not his mother.  But it didn't matter- James had already become a person who would lay down his king for another's pawn. The two minutes standing beside the dining room table, listening to his mother ramble about chess, had been a waste.

Besides, he had always liked card games better.

 

James heard the crack and recognized it instantly as the sound of a bone breaking.  The scream that followed was petrified and agonizing; it resounded through the Shack, only multiplying the impression of pain as it pulled James through the hole and into the house.

He saw blood- the first scarlet drops began at the entrance, right below his feet, and ended at a pool below Snape.  His leg was twisted at a hair-raising angle, blood seeping from open wounds throughout his body as he pitifully pulled himself to the exit.  Fear was dripping from his face just as fluidly as the tears of pain, his frantic efforts getting him no where.

"Snape!" James cried, running forward, but froze as something emerged from behind the staircase.

Its growl hung low in its throat, coaxing both boys to stillness.  Its paws set a pace that was leisurely and controlled, one James knew to be predatory.  The hair at the end of its tail swept the matted filth on the floor as it swung back and forth, rhythmical to the pace its paws had set.  It barred its teeth for both show and tell, breathing heavily as the eyes switched between the crawling prey on the floor to the new, standing one that had only just entered.  James knew that werewolves couldn't think coherently while transformed, but he could hear Remus' voice in his head.

_Who first? Access the situation, identify the largest threat._

The glare settled on him.  Snape wasn't going anywhere.

James knew better than to run.  He was no match for it on two legs.  He glanced quickly at Snape as he took a cautionary step backwards, wand raised.  Should he transform?  He knew he could control the wolf as a stag, and the familiar animal might calm it down.  But Snape already knew so much, and it was a definite ticket to Azkaban if he was discovered.  No, if at all possible, he would do this as a human.

" _Stupefy!_ "

The red jet of light erupted out of James' wand, sending the wolf flying into the wall.  The feeble wooden boards shook as it landed, but James had barely taken a step before it stood back up.

" _Incarcerous!_ "

Ropes appeared out of thin air, wrapping around the wolf's body tightly.  It fell to the floor, the binds making it impossible for it to balance.  James knelt beside Snape, trying to pull up the dead weight, but then there was a large snap.

It had bitten through the cord covering its mouth, and the legs easily shuffled out of the ropes after.  James stood shakily, raising his wand again.  The curse was created for humans, not animals, it wasn't structured to handle the wolf's strength and body shape.

The wolf howled, poised for the attack.

" _Pertificus Total-_ "

But his voice was too slow.  James hit the ground,its claws digging through his robes and sinking into his flesh, his wand jerked out of his hand and landing far out of reach.  He struggled beneath it, but its weight alone was enough to sink its claws further into his body.  Warm musky breath washed over his face as it growled in a hopeless victory.  James jerked his body in one last, futile effort, only to feel a sharp pain in his hand.

He turned towards it instinctively, his hand smeared in blood with the remains of a Firewhiskey bottle surrounding it. 

_James leaned down and picked up his bottle, finishing off the last of it, unable to look at any of the Marauders except in his peripherals. He threw the bottle against the wall, the shards landing in an alarmingly ordered pile._

He did not remember thinking it, but the action had been carried out on pure survival instinct before James could process anything but the cut on his hand. The glass sunk deep into the palm of his hand as he snatched it from the ground, the hot blood burned a path down his arm as he sunk it into the side of the wolf.  It yelped, tumbling away from James and the pain.

He turned on his stomach, crawling desperately to his wand only feet away.  The shard detached itself from one hand as he fumbled with his wand with the other, but then there was an unbearable pain in his calf. He screamed, the sound ringing the same way that Snape's had.

James resisted the urge to turn around and see what had happened, trying to pull himself to his wand, but he was inexplicably pinned to the ground.

_Accio. Accio.Accio!_

He felt the wolf behind him.

_ACCIO!_

His wand flew into his hand.  James swiveled around, brandishing his wand wildly.

_IMPEDIMENTA!_

The wolf flew back, and his calf was free to move, though it was suddenly encased in thick blood as his injury was exposed.  James gasped in pain, but ignored it temporarily, flicking his wand upwards and thinking the first incantation that came to mind.

Fire spread across the floor, enclosing the wolf in a circle of high orange flames.  It stood, searching for an exit, but when it found none is growled loudly and paced inside, not taking its eyes from James.

He rose to his feet,  unsteady on his right leg.  He limped over to Snape, keeping one eye on the dark form behind the flames.  Sinking to the ground beside him, James turned Snape over.  He was unconscious, no doubt from blood loss or trauma.

" _Ferula!_ "

Bandages wrapped themselves into place around Snape's leg, the snap of his leg being jerked back into place sickly.  The white fabric began to instantly turn red.

He cast a Summoning Charm for Snape's wand, but nothing came, so he figured it must've been broken somehow during the attack.  James levitated Snape, struggling towards the hole in the wall, but stopped to look back at the wolf.

_Remus._

__As he stared at the creature behind the flames, he realized that the injuries he'd given the wolf would remain there when he returned to human form in the morning, and they'd be much more devastating then.  He couldn't just leave it there, not when it would be Remus surrounded by deadly flames at sunrise.

He let Snape down, though not very gently, and approached the fire.  His heart raced, and he could feel more sweat being caked on to his back, his clothes already sticking.  He breathed out to try to calm down, but he couldn't shake the realization that he was willingly facing death again.

" _Finite!_ "

The fire died instantly, the wolf pounced, James let his wand fall to the floor-

And the wolf landed harshly into a set of antlers.  

James' head rang with the impact, but he stared down the wolf from above as it crumpled to the floor.  Remus had always seen the Marauders transform before him, as a precaution, so the wolf could've never known that James and the stag were the same, the harming one would mean harming the other.

The werewolf stood, circling the stag, the wound still dripping blood heavily on the floor.  James could hear it sniffing, and he prepared himself to kick or turn if he felt any attack.  But the wolf appeared on his other side, far from a puppy greeting its master, but obviously not bent on his destruction.

Now, for the risk.

James transformed back, his hair on end as he reached down, picked up his wand as fast as possible, and rose.

The wolf growled softly, apparently confused as what to do next.  James wished he'd hurry up and decide- both him and Snape were losing blood.  It stepped forward, and James swallowed the curse he'd been about to yell.  He exhaled heavily, relaxing his body as much as possible.  It circled him again, sniffing, but this time he had no defense of hooves or antlers.  Its muzzle hovered near his ear, growling.  James froze.

_God, I'm an idiot._

He would trust Remus with his life, with anyone's life, because Remus was his mate and that was that.  But this wolf, this animal hovering near his ear was not him.  It was something else that shared the same body with Moony, but did not hold any other part of James' friend, of James' brother.

He felt the air shift around his ear.

James ducked and spun in the same motion, hearing the jaws snap above his head.  " _STUPEFY!_ "

The wolf flew back, as before, but he hit the boarded door rather than the wall.  The body sunk to the ground, unsettling dust as it slumped against the door as the walls shook around it.

Snape moaned.

James' head turned to see Snape's lying form in the tunnel, unmoving, though apparently awakening.  He looked back at the wolf on the floor, equally still, though he could see from there that it was breathing evenly.

He sneaked forward as fast as he could with his useless calf.  The wolf did not wake as James approached it.  There was a large dent in the thick wood of the door, the wolf's eyes were firmly closed.  It'd been knocked out.

" _Ferula!_ "  

White bandages wrapped around the wolf's wound tightly. James didn't look back as he staggered to the opening in the wall again, his heart keeping the same frantic pace.  He wasn't going to wait for it to stop.

 

James jolted back to consciousness and a blurry world.  Someone had removed his glasses.  For a moment he was convinced that he had passed out during the grueling trip to the castle.  But then his brain fast forwarded through the mud-slicked journey to collapsing in the Entrance Hall, Sirius hoisting him through the doors to the hospital wing, and falling asleep as soon as he hit the sheets.

His calf was still in pain, but it was heavy and tingling.  His ankle was stiff, he must have fractured it while walking up to the castle.  James fumbled on the nightstand beside his bed, not for his glasses, but for water.

"Little farther."

James turned, seeing a blur of black hair, but it was unnecessary for recognition.  He knew that voice since he was eleven, since he shared a compartment with that kid with the long hair and mature face.  And as much as James wanted to sympathize with that voice, to agree with him and tell him that it was cool, that he'd fixed the problem, something else came out.

"You fucking asshole."

He didn't need his glasses to know that Sirius' eyes would not shift downward in shame like everyone else's, but stare back at him as he waited for more.  James had always admired it, like no matter what you said to Sirius it didn't get to him, he could just bounce it off.  But it was this that infuriated him now.  If Sirius still didn't realize what he'd done, then James would make him see it.

"You risked everything! What the hell were you thinking when you told Snape? He knows, Sirius, he knows what Remus is! He knows and he's going to tell the whole fucking school what happened, Remus will never be able to...."

He went silent, his own words sinking in.  At the time, James had only considered that Snape could die, which was motivation enough, but now he realized the undeniable gravity of the situation.  Remus would never be able to finish school, let alone get a job.  Hiring a werewolf was already shaky footing, but one with a record of attacking a student? Remus would never be establish himself if he didn't go to Azkaban first, he'd have to live his whole life without any source of income at all.  James had always been happy to "loan" his friend the money, but Remus' pride would step in at some point, he wouldn't accept it, and... what had Sirius done?

"Snape could have died.  He would've, if I hadn't been there. Remus would have killed him, Sirius, and I get that you don't give a flying fuck about his life, but can you imagine what killing someone would do to Remus? Why-?"

"I don't need the speech, okay?" Sirius suddenly interrupted.  

"If you didn't need it, we wouldn't be here! People could have DIED, SIRIUS!" James yelled, losing all control of his voice.  He was so furious that Sirius, the Marauder he considered the closest, would betray them all for a little fun. The fact was that this cut had been deep, that it had torn a part of their friendship so sacred that James didn't know how they could just shrug it off like he did all the other fights.  No matter how loud James was, he couldn't voice this meaning, it was something beyond words and inflection. " _What_ were you thinking?"

"God, you sound just like my father!"

"Fuck you!"

"Okay, Dorcas."

"Is everything a joke to you? Don't you realize-?"

"How come you've lost your sense of humor? I get it, your mum died, but that doesn't mean that you have to fly completely off the handle! You need to deal with it!"

"What does my mum have to do with anything? This is about-"

"Your mum has everything to do with it. You haven't been the same."

"Well, yeah, when you watch your mum die it tends to put a bit of a damper on things, mate, I'm sorry that I wasn't ready to prank Snivellus the second we got back to Hogwarts! Just so I know, when my dad decides you kick the bucket, how long of a mourning period would be good for you?"

"Come on, man, don't be like that."

James stared at Sirius' blur, breathing heavily, marveling that Madam Pomfrey hadn't rushed in the moment they had started shouting.  He gritted his teeth, waiting for the argument to continue, but when Sirius didn't say anything he turned his head to the nightstand to look for the muddled black of his glasses.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said.  

And just like that, he was forgiven. James felt weak for giving in so easily, before Sirius had even explained why, but he couldn't help it.  His loyalty was unshakable, and as long as Sirius cared enough to apologize, that was enough.  He could now cross an already burned bridge, if it was for Sirius. He grabbed his glasses, jamming them on his face and turning to face him.  

"I know that Remus is screwed because of me.  I know that you and Snape could have died.  It was just that at the time, it seemed like a really good idea.  He's always trying to get us in trouble and all, and then you were talking some shit about how just cursing Snivellus wasn't enough and I just...  I'm sorry."

He understood.  This had been Sirius' final attempt to cheer up him, to get him back to the old James.  Sirius had been trying to pull a prank for ages with him, and James had insisted, like an idiot, that they were "above that now", that they should move on to bigger things.  It didn't make it right, or even acceptable, but... he let it go.  He pushed it aside, because even this couldn't ruin Sirius and James. They were brothers, loyalty more binding than blood.

Or some shit like that. 

"It's okay," James said.  "Besides, it's not me you should be apologizing to.  You're gonna have a lot of groveling to do with Moony.  Good thing you're a dog, eh?"

Sirius grinned.  "Tosser," he jibed, punching James loosely in the arm.  James matched his smirk, filling his familiar role of best mate and not enemy. 

"Where's Peter?" he asked before finally gulping down mouthfuls of water.

"Bathroom.  He's been holding his piss for about six hours, ever since we brought you here, so he was in some slight discomfort."  James snorted, water flowing down his pajamas.

"Urgh," he said, looking down at the spill as Sirius laughed. "I hate waking up in the hospital wing's pajamas.  I know she does it with magic, but I always feel like Pomfrey undressed me herself."

"Nah, Evans came in here and did that," Sirius said.

"Oh, shut it. Wanker."

"Arsehole."

"Fucker."

"Arse fucker."

"That doesn't count, you just combined the last two insults, you didn't come up with your own!"

"It's called ingenuity. You should try it sometime," Sirius said with a wink.

"Stop trying to hit on me, pole sucker."

"Yeah, your beauty just overcame me.  How's that working with Evans, by the way?"

"Shut it."

"How come every time I bring up Evans you just tell me to shut it? Can't you think of anything else to say?"

"I don't want to be with her anyways," James confessed.

"Right," Sirius said disbelievingly.  "So... are you recovered enough to sneak out?"

James chuckled. "Only if our first stop is the kitchens.  I'm starved. Turns out saving a git's arse can take a lot out of you."

They both smirked as Sirius helped James out of bed, whom was barely able to stand unless Sirius was supporting him.  They made it all the way to the door, passing an unconscious Snape, before James' eyelids began to droop.  He insisted he wasn't tired, but Sirius had barely dragged him down the corridor before he passed out, thinking for perhaps the only time in his life, that holding grudges wasn't among his strengths.

 

  **A/N: Hey! Skipping homework again for you guys! Okay, there may be SOME selfish intent in skivving my homework, but, really,  most of it is for you.**

**Seriously, alerts were sent out to 874 users, but 24 review? Help a sista out, ya'all... I'll stop pretending to be cool if you review.  Siriusly.  HAHAHAHA!**

**Or I'll stop pretending to be witty. I could do that to.**

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Seven of Hearts

 

James had been in Dumbledore's office in almost every situation possible. He'd been there bleeding, covered in ink, and protruding vibrant peacock feathers.  Whether it be yelling in indignation, laughing hysterically, or silently accepting a punishment, James had done it.  Dumbledore's office was a place of familiarity, at contrast with most students’ view of it.

However, this was a new situation.

He was in his pajamas, which in itself wouldn't be that odd, but he was heavily bandaged and holding a flask of some thick metallic-tasting liquid in his hand. Madam Pomfrey had insisted that he drink the entire thing during the meeting, though she was not there to supervise, rather she had been instructed to remain outside the office to wait.  Ever since he'd collapsed, she was convinced he was extremely unhealthy and was forcing him to consume vast amounts of nutritional supplements and regenerative potions.  His calf had been so mangled and infected that he could barely move it, but Pomfrey had assured him that wouldn't last.

On his left was Sirius, and Snape sat to his left.  He was in a similar situation as James, pajamas and all.  Dumbledore had pulled them out of the hospital wing and Sirius out of a Quidditch match (Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw) for a discussion of some "unknown" topic. The Headmaster hadn't entered yet, and, though normally James would be chatting with Sirius, he couldn't think of anything adequate to say.  Snape mostly scowled with James and Sirius glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes.  

"My office seems to be in the same condition I left it in. Very unexpected."

James had a feeling that Dumbledore practiced entrances like that- very sudden and silent, just so he could be all that more impressive. Not that James minded- it was better than the jolting slam of a door that McGonagall gave out when she was about to lecture you.  All the same, James couldn't bring himself to smile at the Headmaster's comment.

Dumbledore sat down across from them, his body moving very fluidly for an old man. James could barely remember his own father moving that smoothly.  For a moment the blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles just pierced into each of them, making them all aware just how serious this conversation was to become. 

"Mr. Black"-Sirius stared back, unabashed-"I've had the entire day to consider what had happened.  The truth of the matter is that this is _your_  fault.  I see a great amount of potential in you, Sirius.  You are not set to become the people that your parents have become, cruel and thoughtless for others.  Do not voluntarily walk down that path."

Sirius swallowed and looked down, the shame visible on his face.  James knew what had changed this sudden change in attitude- the comparison to his parents.  He wanted to object to Dumbledore bringing them up at all, but stopped when Sirius nodded in agreement.

"I know what I did was wrong."

"That may very well be, but have you actually apologized to Mr. Snape? You at least owe him that."

Sirius looked like Dumbledore was asking him to snog Slughorn, but James nudged him with his foot and gave him a pointed look.  Rolling his eyes, Sirius gritted his teeth and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Snape."  Snape looked equally as revolted.

"Although I'm sure that was punishment enough, I've arranged for you to have detention for the rest of the term, completing-"

"What?" Snape and Sirius said in unison.

"Detention? That's it? He's not going to be expelled!"

"For the _rest of the term_?"

"Professor, he almost killed me, and he's going to get away with it by scrubbing toilets and polishing trophies? You think this an apt punishment for attempted murder?"

"Oh, shut up- _the rest of the term_?"

"Yes, Mr.  Black, every day for the remainder of the year.  You'll report to McGonagall’s office every day at eight o' clock where she will give you instructions.  And do not think I do not understand the severity of what has happened here, Mr. Snape. Lives could have been not only ruined, but they could have completely disappeared.  However, I cannot in good conscience expel Mr. Black. Do not give me reason to, Mr. Black, because this is your _last_  warning.  I do not use that term loosely."

Sirius nodded, resigned.  Snape looked about ready to burst, but didn't dare to protest anymore under Dumbledore's gaze.  For the first time, James wondered why he was there. He would say he was going to be rewarded, but surely that didn't require him to come to the Headmaster's office? Was he about to get punished as well?

"Mr. Snape," Dumbledore said, shifting slightly in his chair, "you are not to tell anybody or _any conscious being_  about Remus Lupin's condition.  You will swear to secrecy- no one else is to ever know. You can imagine how wide-spread knowledge would harm his future, and that would be dreadful for a boy of such potential.  Do you understand?"

It was James and Sirius' turn to be outraged. Both of their mouths dropped open, aghast at their Headmaster's sudden stupidity.

"That's it?" James asked disbelievingly before he could stop himself. "He has to swear to you? He's just going to turn around and spread the word around the school as soon as he's out of earshot, Professor! He-"

"Unlike some people," Snape said loudly, "I actually have morals that I live my life by."

"Oh, like calling your _only friend_ foul names-"

"Calm down," Dumbledore ordered.  He did not yell or raise his voice in any way, but all three of them heard it and shut up.  Snape's face was bright red, Sirius was grinding his teeth, and James sat between them, taking a large gulp from his flask to give his mouth something to do besides curse.

"I must confess, I have only seen a handful of students pass through this school with as much hatred for the other as you three.  You all insist on focusing on your differences, but it is your similarities that require focus now. Breaking boundaries gives us strength, not drawing them. But you all have heard this speech before- your resilience to it only shows how willing you are to give in to loathing."  He fixed each of them with a stare.  "You are not about to change now."

"Lines have already been drawn," James said impulsively.  "I don't trust him with Remus' secret."

"You'll have to learn to.  I trust that Mr. Snape will stick to his word."  Dumbledore looked expectantly at Snape, James and Sirius eventually following suite.

"I swear," Snape said monotonously. "I won't tell anybody."

"Excellent," Dumbledore declared. "You'll be serving detention as well with your own Head of House, though for a rather lesser sentence of three weeks.  With that being said, yourself and Mr. Black may leave."

Sirius rose, looking back and forth between the Headmaster and James; he shrugged, making it clear that he had no idea. Snape didn't seem as interested- he made for the door as quickly as his battered body would let him.  Sirius followed him, curiously glancing back at James as he closed the door behind him as casually as possible.

"Mr. Potter- no doubt you're wondering why I instructed you to stay behind. Don't worry, you're not in any trouble. I am actually very proud of you, and I know your mother would be too..."

That familiar feeling of guilt, regret, fury, and despair sunk deep into his stomach at the mention of his mother, but he nodded in thanks nonchalantly.  He ruffled his hair, slightly, and tapped his foot in preparation for an unwelcome conversation.

"In any case, your father is proud.  I owled him as to your heroics, and he said that you couldn't have been more of a Potter that night. But he remains concerned..."

James ground his teeth together briefly. "Meaning?..."

"Meaning that Professor McGonagall has contacted your father as to your recent behavior, and she was quite right to do so.  You've been skipping class, which isn't exactly a recent development, but even an old man such as myself has heard the rumors.  Your brawls in Hogsmeade have attracted quite an interest. And Professor McGonagall informs me she has reasons to suspect that drugs are involved."

Lying wasn't exactly an option with Dumbledore, at least not if you wanted him to believe you. James stayed silent, concentrating on blinking at normal intervals. Dumbledore seemed to read him anyway, though, as he stared at James disapprovingly.

"Your father is worried, and he has plenty of reason to be. Several other students have been affected during these times, and I've brought in professional help.  Healer Drake is a certified psychologist, and she's volunteered to help support students for the rest of the year. Your father requests that you join this group."

"No," James said without thinking about it, shame permeating throughout every cell in his body.  These students that Dumbledore was talking about had probably had their families or loved ones ripped away from them by Death Eaters or Voldemort himself, might be lucky to be alive themselves, and James couldn't stand the thought of admitting to a group of his peers that he wasn't strong enough to handle a death that had happened relatively peacefully and naturally, that he had known was going to occur for three years.  

"It's not so much of a request as it is an order, Mr. Potter. After March 27, you'll be free to see it as a suggestion, but until then, I'm afraid its mandatory."  

James' stomach dropped.  He was still sixteen, and until his birthday, his dad could make any decision he wanted about him, especially if it pertained to his "well-being".  He drank more of the potion to give himself time to think.

"If you would prefer, private sessions could be arranged," Dumbledore said.  "Your father did not specify, most unfortunately."  James nodded eagerly, swallowing the last of the concoction.  "Excellent. You are to meet Healer Drake in formally abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, next to the statue of Morgana- I'm sure you're familiar with it, correct?- on Mondays at seven.  And Professor McGonagall has given you detention for skipping her class on Thursdays until further notice.   I trust you'll be far too occupied to sneak into bar fights, yes?"  Dumbledore grinned slightly, before gesturing towards the door.  James understood, having been given the signal to leave many times before, and stood shakily. 

His hand was on the door knob when he heard Dumbledore's voice behind him.

"How many tests do you suppose you've passed in your years at Hogwarts, James?"

He turned, his eyebrows furrowed.  "Twenty-seven," James responded sarcastically. "I keep count."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Make it twenty-eight, then, Mr. Potter."

 

James left the hospital wing Monday morning- Snape had to stay at least another day, so Remus' secret was safe until classes for sure.  To sufficiently head him off, James told the first student he saw in the hallway (Lizzy Bennet, coincidentally) about a supposed epic duel that had occurred between him and Snape. He made up the details along the way, showing her the scar on his calf as an indicator of Dark Magic, and had her fully convinced by the time he reached his Transfiguration class.

When he entered the classroom, a quick succession of whispers resonated. McGonagall tried to keep teaching as usual, but failed rather dismally. James took an open seat by Peter, Remus at least attempting to take notes in front of him.  He scanned the blackboard, read "The First Fundamental Theory of Transfiguration", and then turned back to his mates.

"Pomfrey is mad. You weren't that banged up," Sirius said, scribbling something on parchment that suspiciously looked like it wasn't notes- the hangman in the corner had been a giveaway. Peter rolled his eyes, dipping his quill in ink to draw an arm on the stick figure. "Did you ask her if you could leave on Sunday?"

James nodded, not really in the mood to talk. Lizzy had taken up all his energy, it seemed, and he suddenly wanted to be alone more than anything after a forced seclusion for days.

"Well, what happened?" asked Peter.

"She said no, obviously," James answered curtly. "Otherwise I would've been there, wouldn't've I?"

Peter shrugged, but he was clearly annoyed.  He drew another limb on the parchment in response to Sirius' guess, but the game came to a sudden halt.  Sirius scribbled something on a separate sheet of parchment, throwing it over Peter's head.  James caught it almost reflexively, jamming it in his pocket as McGonagall looked over. The art of note passing was always unsafe compared to frantic whispers, enough so that despite James' sullen mood, his curiosity was sparked.

McGonagall continued writing on the board.  James unrolled the parchment, keeping it underneath the desk as he read.

_Moony doesn't know he banged Snivellus up. He knows about you but Snape was a bit worse off. I didn't want Moony to know how close it really was. Told him that the Willow got Snape, that he only really got a glimpse of him in full form. He bought it, so we're sticking with it_

James glanced at Sirius, nodding in comprehension as he tapped the parchment with his wand. It slowly burned underneath the desk, the ashes blending in with the stone floor.  He dropped it at the last second, smothering any remaining flame with his foot.

Normally, James would reject lying to his mates for any reason, but this was different.  Remus didn't deserve to know how close he'd been to taking a life, how close he'd been to becoming a murderer.  James knew that his friend still felt guilty about attending Hogwarts and letting the other three risk Azkaban for him- if Remus knew, the damning stain of Snape's blood would never wash away.

"Shame, really, that she didn't let you out," Peter whispered, as if nothing had happened. "Evans' party was actually fun. Dorcas planned it, obviously, but Evans let her, which is something-"

"Mr. Pettigrew! Refrain from gossiping to Mr. Potter and pay attention, will you? I should think that your grade in my class is enough of an incentive for you to listen."

"Sorry, Professor....so anyway, Dorcas had everyone play seven minutes in heaven, right? And Lily's against it and all, but Dorcas made her come around to it.  So I ended up in a closet with Amanda Grey of all people.  I thought she didn't want to snog me or anything, 'cause she's going out with that bloke in Hufflepuff who's Head of the Gobstones Club, but I was wrong.  She went at me for the full time!"

"Congrats, Wormtail, for the sixth time.  Now, can I listen to the lecture?" Remus half-whispered, still facing the blackboard.

"Oh, Moony, don't be such a wanker," Sirius said. "We haven't even got to my eight and half minutes with Marlene McKinnon."

"Mr. Black! Do not disrupt my class any further!"

"Sorry, Professor... anyway,  _eight and half_   _minutes!_  She couldn't stop herself."

"Mate, Dorcas lost the timer."

"Either way, she was still enjoying herself so bloody much that she wasn't counting. Though I suppose she was a bit smashed. Dorcas might hate my every breath, but didn't stop her from letting us smuggle in Firewhiskey."

"Goodness gracious! Five minutes, the three of you, all I'm asking for is  _five minutes_ to teach the class."

"How about eight and half, Professor?" Sirius asked with a pointed look at the other Marauders.  Marlene giggled loudly in the front row.

"Diggory was there," Peter declared as soon as McGonagall turned back to the board.

"So? He's her boyfriend, of course he was at her birthday party," James commented, his foot grinding the ashes deeper into the grit.

"Don't pretend you don't care, Prongs, we know you do."

"Will you all please _shut up_?" Lily whispered frantically in front of them. "I'm trying to pay attention."

"Why? This is kid's stuff," James said, gesturing vaguely at the board. "Basically says it's magic."

"Not everyone gets it as quickly as you do. Be considerate and shut up."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No need to get antsy, Evans, just because your boyfriend isn't performing-"

Lily turned, opening her mouth to cut him off, but McGonagall beat her to it.

"DETENTION! I'm sick of this chattering in the back of my classroom! Potter, Black, Pettigrew, and Evans stay after class!"

Lily's mouth dropped the rest of the way open, aghast. Remus snorted loudly, but looked decently abashed after Lily shot him a glare. James bit back a chuckle at the unfairness of it all, and instead leaned forward as soon as McGonagall turned. "Bad luck, Evans."

But McGonagall was waiting for a sound, swiveling around faster than curse cast. "Mr. Potter, you already have detention with me Thursday evening, you will now have another with your cohorts on Wednesday, I believe that Quidditch practice is scheduled for Tuesday, and you have a meeting with Healer Drake tonight. Would you prefer to have a free evening or not?"

Her last sentence was drowned out amongst the whispers that suddenly filled the classroom. James felt his face burn against his will as heads turned conspicuously to glance at him. Pursing her lips, McGonagall seemed to have realized her mistake, but the damage had been done. It was apparent that the rest of the school _knew_  about Drake's presence in the school, Dumbledore had announced it or something, and by lunch every student would know that James Potter was a lunatic, that he couldn't handle himself, that he...

Actually, James couldn't finger exactly what was so embarrassing about having to meet a psychologist, but he could feel the humiliation _course_ through his blood, thick and blocking any witty reply that could save his reputation. Lily looked at him with what was clearly sympathy, but he couldn't meet her gaze.

The bell rang. Students filed out of the doorway as McGonagall yelled that their detention was at six o' clock on Wednesday and assigned homework. James made a point to rise from his seat as casually as possible, as if his first instinct wasn't to bolt out of the classroom as fast as possible. 

The Marauders were last to leave.  Silence enveloped all of them, not knowing quite what to say, until Remus asked out of curiosity, "Who's Drake?"

"Dumbledore made an announcement the day before you got out of the hospital wing, Moony," Peter supplied, his eyes on the ground. "He reckons some students need -er- help dealing with all the trauma that's been going on, what with You-Know-Who. Drake's a psychologist, she's apparently helping some... people."

"I'm not a nutter," James declared loudly. "My dad's making me."

" _What?_ " Sirius's jaw dropped. "Your dad? What the fuck? No disrespect, Prongs, but based on what I saw before we came back, you're handling things a lot better than your old man."

"Whatever. I'll just go until I'm seventeen, and then I can do whatever I damn well want, you know? But this week is gonna be bloody nightmare, McGonagall’s right about that."

"She did give you all fair warning," Remus pointed out.

"Oh, shut it," Peter said. "We can't all be model students."

"You shut it," Remus replied. "Anyway, I think it'll do you good to keep busy, Prongs. An idle mind is the devil's playground."

"Did you really just say that?" James asked, his frown breaking into a grin despite himself.  "Where do you get this shit, Moony?"

"It's in the Bible. Sort of."

"Ah, so now our dear Moony is a priest?" Sirius challenged mockingly. "Tell us, Father Moony, what exactly attracted you to the world of priesthood? The holiness of spreading the word, or the promise that you'd never have to snog a girl?"

James and Peter howled with laughter as Remus rolled his eyes. 

"Fuck you guys."

"We know you want to," Sirius shot back.

"Oh, Merlin! For the last bloody time, I'm not gay!"

James couldn't stop himself from smiling, the laugh escaping his chest easily.  He didn't need help, he just needed to go back to normal life, one filled with meaningless memories instead of this sharp reality. He didn't need anything except this.

Right?

 

 

He entered seven minutes late.  His tie was undone, his clothes rumpled, his robes discarded seven floors up with the other Marauders.  Obviously in no hurry, James closed the door behind him, not bothering to tie his floppy laces.  From all sides, it was apparent that James was not attending this meeting willingly.

But Drake didn't look remotely concerned as he walked toward her with his reluctant appearance.  She smiled instead, her lips stretching over her thin face to reveal immaculate teeth.  Her hair was white blonde, but a few strands of gray were easily visible in the light of the office. But her most striking feature could be seen from even behind a desk- she was ghastly skinny, looking to be made of bones rather than flesh.  James supposed she could be somewhat attractive if she'd just shove something down her giraffe-like throat, but as he sat down he saw several fudge wrappers littering her desk.

"Sorry, I didn't get a chance to eat lunch," Drake said, her voice apologetic, but with a permanent briskness to it. She swept the wrappers into the bin on the side of her desk.  "I'm Amelia Drake, but I won't waste time asking your name. I've got it right here."  She tapped a piece of parchment on her desk, on which James could see a short biography of himself printed.

"I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, but, as I'm sure my file also states, I'd rather not be here."

"Well, that's a shame," she said sardonically, her eyes glinting. "Let's start with that then. Why don't you want to be here?"

Taken aback by her matter-of-fact demeanor, James slowly answered, "I don't need to be. You have plenty of kids who suffered attacks from the Dark side, do I really need to be wasting your time?"

"Ah, so you think you're a waste of time?"

"No," James replied, nonplussed. "That's not what I said. I said that me being here is a waste of your time."

"Hmm, yes," she mumbled as she scanned his file. "You're far too arrogant to believe you're a waste of time. But who wouldn't be, with a childhood like yours..."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your family doted on you night and day, you being the only chance they'd ever have to continue the Potter line. You're smart, athletic, charming, and nobody ever let you forget it. You've never had to work for anything, really, since you're set to inherit quite the sum of assets-"

"Did you read that in _Witch Weekly_?"

Drake looked up from the file. "The article upset you." It wasn't a question, but James felt like he should answer it as one.

"Of course it upset me! What kind of shit question-? I apologize."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "For?"

"The language, I apologize," he said, but suddenly winced in pain. This session was giving him a headache.

"Do you always apologize for using language? You apparently have no problem shouting profanities at Professor Slughorn, you served a week's detention for that last year."

"No, I don't always apologize," James admitted, rubbing his temple.

"Then why apologize now?"

"You're a woman," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, deciding that his headache wasn't about to disappear any time soon.

"So you're a gentleman now as well? From your file and the three or four minutes I've spent with you so far I'd say that you are quite the contradiction.  You're brilliant, from what your professors tell me, but you don't use any of it, at least practically.  You have a reputation at sixteen for being a playboy, but you have genuine respect for women; you're manipulative, but trusting to the point of stupidity.  You claim to be more like your father, and perhaps you are on the outside, but your inner self resembles your mother more than you'll probably ever know.  You act as if meaningless relationships are all you've ever desired, but you've your heart set on someone here.  You've a record of rashness and embracing every feeling, but you reject your own grief and seek to channel it instead of face it."

For a moment, James sat in stunned silence. The first few were points that anyone could have drawn, with or without his file, but how did she know that much about him? There was no way that was all written down in his file, she would've had to talk to somebody who knew him, who knew him very well...

"You talked to my dad?"

"Not about this. The extent of your father's and mine communication is him persuading me to come to Hogwarts. But someone as trusting as you has probably told several people the information I just recited to you.  I don't mean to alarm you, James, I'd just prefer we skip the initial analysis and head straight into the problem."

"The problem being my mother's death."

"Yes," she answered. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

She nodded. "Very well then, James. You may go. I will see you next Monday."

"What?" Despite his confusion, James stood, not about to pass up an opportunity to leave.

"Go. I'll see you next week."  She checked something on his file, but James couldn't be bothered to see what. He strode towards the doorway, already thinking that he could still make it to Hogsmeade if he hurried.  Closing the door behind him, James practically sprinted up the stairs.  If he just ran and got the Invisibility Cloak, he could run down to Hogsmeade and settle a score with two-

"OH!"

James grabbed the railing to steady himself as fingers grasped helplessly at his tie.  The material slid smoothly off his neck, but James caught it at the last second, letting the person at the other end keep their balance.

"Smooth," Lizzy said, not letting go of his tie as she eyed the ground, almost as if she was making sure her feet were firmly planted.

"Thanks," James responded, not positive as to whether or not he was obligated to keep holding his own tie.  "Quidditch reflexes."

"Mine only work in the air," she joked, smiling broadly. "You should really tie your ties. Then we wouldn't end up like this."

"Then you'd just be hanging on to my neck."

"I wouldn't mind," she said, turning red as she spoke.

He grinned, thoughts of bar fights forgotten.  He only remembered the thrill of snogging Rosmerta, and he recognized he could easily replicate that here.  It was another game, and he was going to win. "I suppose I could pull your weight," he replied.

She scoffed, looking affronted until she realized he was joking.  "Oh, no, I wouldn't want to bother you."

"I wouldn't mind," he echoed, pulling her and the tie closer.  She pretended to fight with him, but he won in the end, her face barely an inch from his. "Are you going to make me wait for the first date, or can I kiss you now?"

She opened her mouth to answer, an answer that James was _sure_  was going to be a yes- after all, she'd fancied him for months- when a loud snigger resounded across the staircase.

"Really, Potter? That's the best line you could come up with?"

Lily stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips and a disbelieving grin on her face. "I suppose I don't feel too bad for turning you down the past two years then."

Ouch. 

"Hi, Lily," Lizzy said, stepping away from James.  "I'll check the fourth floor, then."  She smiled awkwardly, proceeding down the stairs.  "And James? I'll talk to you at Quidditch practice?"

"Yeah, alright. See you then." He grinned as she walked down the stairs, but it fell as soon as she was out of sight.

"Do you _enjoy_  blocking a bloke from a good snog, or are you just bitter because you're not getting anything?"

Lily blinked, her grin fading as well. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I think Padfoot was right, Diggory's just not giving it to you-"

"And I think that you're just trying to take everything out on me. And that's really unfair."

He bit back a reply, recognizing the truth of her words. He was just venting on her.  If he couldn't be fighting or snogging, then he might as well have an argument with Evans.Or some other shit logic. James wasn't about to let her know she was right, though, so he made to go down the stairs after Lizzy.

"Don't go chasing after her, she's supposed to be patrolling."

"Well, it's not like you’re a stickler for patrol areas, are you?" James accused, turning to face her again with one foot on the stairs.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, her hand returning to her hip.

"You're not even supposed to be on this staircase, you're supposed to be on the fifth floor. Every prefect covers their floor and the staircase leading up to the one above it. So why break protocol, Evans?"

Lily rolled her eyes, but James could tell that she was surprised that he knew that much about the prefect patrols. "Well, Lizzy wasn't about to check it, was she?"

"But you wouldn't have known that until you got halfway down the steps. So, why bother?"  He'd gone from a losing to a winning hand in about a minute, and he wasn't about to let his advantage slip. "Are you just looking for extra work to do because you can't spend any more time with your boyfriend?"

"What is it with you and Amos? Why don't you like him?"

"Because he's a useless pretty boy," James replied evenly. "He's dull, and you deserve somebody extraordinary and..." He trailed off, deciding he didn't want to finish that sentence.  Sighing, he added, "You deserve better than that, you know?"

"According to you," Lily said, apparently unmoved.  "I think Amos is-"

"Is what? Is what, Lily? Smart? Not really. Charming? Athletic? Yeah, he's on the team, but only because Hufflepuff doesn't have talent worth a Knut.  Brave? No. What is so special about Amos Diggory when you wouldn't give me the time of day?" he practically shouted, angry for a reason unknown.

"I thought you didn't care anymore," Lily said, her voice almost a whisper when compared to James'.

"I don't," he responded, his volume dropping to meet hers.

"Well, then, not that it's your business, but Amos happens to be very nice."

"Nice? _Nice?"_

"Yes, maybe you should value that trait more."

"I just didn't think of you as a girl who'd settle for nice," he said, starting up towards the Common Room instead.  He didn't particularly feel like finding Lizzy anymore.

"And I didn't think of you as a boy who'd avoid anything, including grief."

James groaned. "This again? Why is it always this? Why can't anyone just drop it and let me deal with it? I'm dealing with it! I don't need anybody's ruddy help!"

"Of course not, you're just getting into bar fights every night and skipping class for the heck of it! You just like being depressed and feeling like you're always drowning, because it's just _so_  enjoyable, is that it, Potter?"

"Don't be daft, Evans, I just... Look, I'm giving you what you wanted, alright? I'm leaving you alone. Go snog Diggory or something." His stomach churned at the thought, but he turned and walked up the stairs.

"I didn't want it like this."

It was a stupid moment to piece it all together, but the moments of realization in James' life were rarely ideal. They were random and, though profound in content, never in time. But as soon as the words left Lily's mouth, he had that sinking feeling that could only mean one thing.  She was right.

He wasn't dealing with this. He wasn't confronting his grief, he was avoiding it, and like _hell_  was James Potter going to avoid something.  Fighting DEWBs and snogging girls wasn't going to help him get over his mother's death, it only made things fade for a moment. It wasn't a solution, and it certainly wasn't courageous.  He wasn't going to run away from his emotions anymore, because these feelings, this pain, was what made him human.  

There was also a much less meaningful realization immediately following. He continued up the stairs for the sake of not making things more awkward then they already were, but he could feel the truth in his bones.

_Fuck, I do still fancy her._

 

**a/n: You know the drill. Yeah, it's been a while. Yeah, I've been busy. Yeah, I don't have anything to check this chapter except spell check. Yeah, the format was screwed up and took me forever to fix. yadayadayada. But I will not let this story die, I am seriously committed to seeing this through till the end.**  

**I actually am not that fond of this chapter- it is sort of long, isn't it? But it took me a long time to write it, and it needs to be here, but do not judge this fic on this chapter. Not that I'm not happy with chapter, just that I promise better ones are to come. I'll stop rambling now, shall I?**

**Reviews are always appreciated! Honestly, all I do is check my computer for reviews as soon as I enter a wi-fi zone, it's actually a bit pathetic...**


	9. Ten Fingers, Three Hands

James pretended he did not notice the two month anniversary of his mother's death.  He pretended that his hand was nothing less than a pair, certainly, as if it wasn't blatantly obvious that he only held one old, frayed King.  He did not doubt that people saw through it, but, for once, this bluff was no for the other players. It was for himself. 

He had recognized that ignoring his mother's death was not a solution by any means, that it was only prolonging the agony of loss.  But he also realized that he could sift through it all at once; in order to maintain any sanity, there had to be moments where he could worry about Quidditch games, Amos Diggory, or the lack of entertainment in his classes.

So, instead of drinking, smoking, or fighting on February 25th, James practiced Quidditch for three hours.  He stole bacon from Diggory's plate at breakfast as he talked to Lily about how their detention had been repeatedly delayed.  And when the Marauders retreated to the library, he followed.  The lines under his eyes were still visible, but they were no longer a defining feature.  He wasn't as thin, though hardly anyone noticed due to a sudden growth spurt.  There was an energy about him that hadn't been there before, even before Holidays.

He allowed himself to laugh loudly at Sirius' jokes, to feel the warmth of Lizzy's lips, to experience the rush that came with defying authority.  James decided that fighting Sirius was more fun than two D.E.W.B.s at Hogsmeade anyway, and that there were better reasons for not doing homework than snorting drugs.  He didn't need other things to make him feel alive, because life was already filled to the brim with that.

But he also allowed himself to feel like shit.  He permitted a show of weakness, actually crying in front of Remus and Peter for the first time in his memory.  Both had no idea what to do, but eventually decided on the right recourse- standing awkwardly and comforting from afar.  

The watch his father had given him no longer sat uselessly in his drawer.  He had moved it to the top of his dresser, unable to wear it, but feeling it needed to be out in the open.  

Despite all these changes, the school continued to step on eggshells around him, until the day of February 26th, where the school woke up to find that several statues in the school had been remodeled to resemble all the Hogwarts' staff members.  Which would've been completely unremarkable had they not all been in Greek poses and completely nude.  When passing, they'd shout obvious innuendos in exact likeness of whoever they represented.  

This prank, while unremarkable when compared to some others pulled off by the Marauders, was one of the most remembered.  Not only did it solve the mystery of what the four of them had been doing in the library for the past week, it solidified something that Lily had been thinking for quite some time now.

James Potter was recovering, and that made her remarkably happy for some reason.

 

The detention finally took place a week after the Nude Statue Prank.  It had been postponed several times for no particular reason, it seemed, but all the same the four of them met in McGonagoll's office at seven.  It began with the following words:

"Wands, please."

The four of them handed their wands over reluctantly into her waiting palm.  She stuck them firmly in her robe pocket before continuing, "Mr. Filch is expecting you in the trophy room, Black. You know what to do."

Sirius groaned, massaging his soon-to-be sore arms as he left the classroom.

"Pettigrew, the Gryffindor Quidditch locker rooms need to be cleaned. Do not leave until Madam Pomfrey would be satisfied with their sanitary condition. Potter - oh, honestly, Pettigrew, it isn't that bad- Potter and Evans, I have papers for you to grade."

James and Peter's jaws dropped, but both thought it best to not comment. Peter, obviously receiving the worse punishment, trudged towards the locker rooms, shooting James jealous glares.  He couldn't very well be blamed- James knew how awful his team was with keeping those rooms tidy.

But James wasn't about to speak up- his punishment was grading papers.  He wondered why McGonagall would trust him with students' grades, but he figured that's why Lily was there. There was a large stack of parchment on the desk, and, as McGonagoll left the classroom, the pair of them started drearily toward their task.

"She does realize that we could just walk out, right? Why doesn't she stay and supervise?" Lily asked, looking over her shoulder as she picked up half of the stack and moved to another desk.

"There's a Charm on the door that lets McGonagall know if we open it," he answered, settling himself behind the Professor's desk.  "Padfoot and I haven't figured out the countercharm yet."

Lily scoffed, but he couldn't tell if it was from disapproval or disappointment.  He scanned the parchment- the first few at least were third-year Transfiguration tests, easy enough to grade.  He pulled the top one off of the stack, instantly seeing the first answer was wrong.

"Ah, you wouldn't happen to have an extra quill, would you?" 

Lily shook her head, her long eagle feather quill already twitching as she marked several questions.

James shrugged and searched through the desk, finding nothing but homework and lesson plans.  Not even a test key, which was really quite the disappointment, because those could be sold for quite a high price.   He did, however, finally find a rather short quill, but it did the job.  As he dipped it in a pot of ink on the desk, he declared, "Evans, I have a proposal."

"Oh, do tell," she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm.  She had apparently remembered to be mad at him again.  James was aware that Lily was angry with him, he could just never tell when she decided to enforce it.  Or why.  At all, really.

"I think both of us can agree that we'll be here for a while.  Care to make it interesting? Or would you prefer to work in silence for hours?"

Lily looked up from the parchment in front of her, quill still poised.  "I don't think you and I share the same idea of interesting as of late."

"Meaning?"

"That my idea of interesting isn't practically shagging behind the Greenhouses during class."

"Oh, and yours would be practically avoiding your boyfriend like the plague during weekends?"

"I already told you, Potter, I am NOT avoiding Amos! I happen to fancy him, and just because we're not joined at the lips like you and Lizzy-"

"I'm not in the mood to argue with you for the next three hours, alright, Evans? I was just going to suggest we play a game, but Merlin...."

They silently graded papers for a grand total of thirty seconds before curiosity obviously got the best of Lily.

"A _game_? What are we, six?"

"Anything to pass the time," James admitted.  "Or does grading Trans-?"

"Yeah, I'm sure that was extremely witty and all, but can you just tell me what the game is?"

James laughed despite himself.  She really was pissed at him, wasn't she? He supposed she had a right to be, she was serving detention because of him.  All the same, he would've thought she'd have gotten over that by now.  "I ask a question, you answer, you ask a question I answer.  Refusing to answer gives the other a point. And don't try to lie, Evans, I'll be able to tell.  First to ten wins, okay?"

"Alright," Lily said, a little too eagerly for James to be comfortable. "Me first.  What happened between you and Snape before my birthday? I know it wasn't that duel that you told the rest of the school."

His breath caught in his throat, but he tried to play it off as a cough.  His first instinct was to lie, but that defeated the whole purpose of the game, didn't it?  He couldn't bloody well tell her the truth, though, and even any absurdly vague answer gave her too much information.  Lily wasn't stupid, she'd figure it out if he even hinted.  "Alright, you get a point, I'm not answering," he admitted, angry that he was already losing.  "What did you get on your Transfiguration O.W.L. last year?"

Her mouth went from a triumphant grin to a straight line as she stared at him, abandoning the test she was grading.  James knew exactly what dilemma she was in- Transfiguration was _his_ best subject, Lily ran the risk of admitting to a lower grade than James, something he knew her pride wouldn't allow.  Marks were a one-sided competition, because, though James blatantly didn't make an effort, it would be humiliating to Lily to admit that she wasn't as intelligent.

"Alright, point to you," she said, taking the safe route.  James tried not to smile as he marked an entire page incorrect.  She would abandon any option with a risk. "Most embarrassing moment?"

"Ooh, right to the heart, Evans. First year, had to run up to the dorm starkers after hazing.  I wouldn't feel to bad- we got our revenge. When did you start your period?"

Lily blushed scarlet, unable to look him in the eye.  "Fourth year."

"Yeah, you were particularly pissy that year."

"Ha ha. How much do you weigh?"

Oh, she thought she was going to get a point with that? He might be scrawny, but he sure wasn't about to give her the edge.  "About ten stone. How much do _you_  weigh?"

"Eight and half," she said.  "You didn't honestly think that was going to work with me, did you?"

"You thought it would work on me," James defended, smiling despite himself.  It was a game, and anything that involved competition was for him.  "Why did you and Snape stop being mates?"

She tensed slightly, but her voice was even.  "He called me a Mudblood.  It was the last straw.  But you knew that, why waste the question?"

"I was just making sure," James evaded.  He was making sure that she was telling the truth, not the reason behind her and Snivellus' break-up.  "Why don't you like me?"

"You're just too arrogant," Lily sighed.  "It's like you own the place, like you think you're better than everyone else and you're _not_. I suppose I just can't look past that..."  It was a very quick answer, and James had a hard time believing that she hadn't thought about this a lot.  "Why do you like me, then?"

"I... I don't really know," James admitted. He'd actually asked himself that question quite often, not to mention all the times that Sirius had.  But it was always difficult to come up with an answer- he wanted to say that it was because she was hot, but there were plenty of other hot girls at this school.  Usually he just gave up and said it was because he couldn't have her, but James had a hard time believing his interest in Lily Evans would be quelled if she agreed to date him. 

Lily looked skeptical.  "That's a point for me."

"It is not!" James objected loudly.  "I really don't know, I'm not lying.  You're just an interesting bird, I guess."

She rolled her eyes. "Even I know why you're interested, Potter- I'm the only one that doesn't give you what you want."

"And here I was thinking that you hadn't noticed how matey the Slytherins and I have been lately," James said sarcastically, dipping the dismal excuse for a quill back in the ink bottle.  It was so short that ink was beginning to stain his fingers.

"Don't be smart with me."

"Sorry, didn't mean to upset you, Evans," he said, putting both his hands up defensively.  "Just ask a question, 'kay?"

She glared at him for a moment, but her eyes resumed scanning the tests after a moment.  "It's your turn."

"Oh, right," James said, feeling decidedly stupid. Looking to redeem himself, he asked, "Are you a virgin?"

Lily's jaw dropped.  "That's none of _your_ business, Potter, and it's a very personal question.  I can't believe you'd-"

"So that's a yes, then?" He grinned, his mood suddenly lifted.

"Fine! Yes, I am, what's it you? Nevermind, don't answer. I have a better question.  Why do you fancy Lizzy?"

"She's _nice_ ," James spat, staring directly at her.  "You said I should value that more, didn't you?"

"You're using her," Lily declared, holding James' gaze.  "It's really awful, to use somebody like that. I thought you were above that."

"Did you? Did you really? This sounds exactly like something you'd think I'd do." 

"Well, I was right, wasn't I?"

"That's not what I meant!" James shouted, backtracking.  "I'm not using her! Just because her and I don't share the _profound_  connection that you and Diggory have doesn't mean somebody's going to get hurt here! Lizzy knows what's she's getting into."

"Oh, you mean like Emmeline and Cassandra and Bethany? Like Mary and Rebecca and Rachel? You mean like how they knew what they were getting into?"  Lily shouted, not even pretending to grade tests anymore.  "They still ended up crying in the girls' loo! Do you really not see what they expected from you?  You lead them all on, you used all of them! You and Black are one in the same."

James had been told more times than he could count that Sirius and he were like brothers, that their similarities were too numerous to be ignored, but this time it was different.  This time, it wasn't a compliment, and James knew exactly what Lily was indirectly talking about.  "I would never do what Sirius did to Dorcas."

"Oh, please, I'd be surprised if you hadn't done it before.  Sirius doesn't think he did anything wrong, he has the audacity to break up with _her_ , believes that she should have seen it coming, not to mention he doesn't even recognize that he hurt her at all-"

"Shut up!" One of the desks inexplicably twitched. James noticed and bit sharply on his tongue before speaking again.  "Leave Sirius out of this, he's a good bloke, better than Diggory at any rate."

"Really? Amos would never cheat on a girlfriend, he's far too much of a gentleman for that.  The only Marauder that seems to have any decency in him in Remus, and you've even taken some of that out of him! The rest of you decide that ethics don't apply to you, I guess, because-"

"Do you ever shut up? Honestly, Evans, do you ever shut up and think that maybe there's more to people than what they do in school?  Or are you always this prissy?"

"I am not-" Lily suddenly closed her eyes, exhaling loudly. "I should not be yelling at you. You have enough stress to deal with."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. Nodding vaguely, he grinded his foot into the ground as silence overtook them.  He wanted to argue more, but knew that it wasn't a smart move to pursue a row with Lily.  The awkwardness hung heavy in the air, but neither of them took the initiative to break it until, after about fifteen minutes of complete silence, Lily spoke.

"It's my turn.  What's your favorite color?" 

James looked up. Lily's expression was nervous, almost apologetic, and he recognized the question not as a continuance of the game, but as a truce.  A question as trivial couldn't be an attempt to gain a point; rather, it was an attempt at civil conversation, at a future of greetings, less arguing, smiling in the hallways, or at least possessing the ability to not yell at each other for five minutes.

"Red."

She grinned. "Obviously."

 

His sessions with Drake were odd, to say the least.

James always entered late, but no longer was he trying to make a statement. He was just busy.  Drake seemed to always be eating when he came in, and always hurriedly explained that she has missed dinner.  She would then glance at his file for a moment before asking him seven questions, after which he was ordered to leave.

He had first noticed it was always seven questions after their fourth session, and was very perplexed as to why it was seven.  And while he reasoned that it was probably some crackpot shrink technique to get him to open up, he couldn't shake the feeling that it meant more.  James once asked her why seven, but she had shaken him off, instead analyzing his observational skills for ten minutes.

That was the other thing- how did she know him so well?  How did she take these ridiculously small details and arrive at a conclusion that James knew was true?  James knew she had talked to someone, but her point from their first meeting remained true- he had told countless people the information she'd rattled back to him.  He didn't exactly have a clear list of suspects.

All in all, these meetings were very routine.  So when James entered the room yet again, eleven minutes late, and Drake was just sweeping about a pound of orange peels into the bin, he wasn't phased in the least.

"Hello, James.  How are you?"

_Question one._ "Fine.  You?"

She grinned, as if she had just recognized a secret joke. "Tired, if you must know. I've been reviewing applications for the past two hours, but my decision had been made long ago."

"Applications?" James asked as he took a seat.  "For what?"

"Interns.  The psychological field is of great interest to many, especially in dark times.  People want to know the inner workings of minds that torture and kill for pleasure.  Minds like those that murdered the Brookings...." James supposed on paper her words would have sounded concerned, but her voice, with that permanent crisp feel to it, made the questions clinical.

"Yeah, I read about that," James responded.  

"And how did it make you feel, the murders?"

His first instinct was sarcasm, to make some sharp comment about how splendid the whole thing really was, but he knew that this wasn't at all a joke.  "Enraged. Revolted."

"Do you think you could ever kill a person, James?"

"No." His answer was instant.  "Taking a life is taking a life, no matter how you color it."

"So, what do you think should be done with the murderers?"  Drake never wrote anything down, like James always envisioned a shrink would.  Her eyes never left his, something that he found both unnerving and comforting.

"Azkaban," James answered simply.

Drake chuckled.  "The son of a true Auror.  Never questioned the results, only intentions.  I'd say Azkaban is far worse than death- to relive only the worst of your life must be worse than life ending."

"Life is always worth living."

Drake raised an eyebrow.  "In all circumstances? The perpetually disabled, the mentally ill, serial murderers, and even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named should all live, according to you."

James opened his mouth to respond, but the words were stuck in his throat as his morality caught up to her words.  "I could never kill someone," he reiterated.

"So you'll rely on others to carry out actions you deem morally apprehensible, but must to prevent further harm.  You're too weak to do it yourself."

"Or my morals are too strong," James snapped, irked at being called weak.

"I would argue that they are one in the same.  The Dark Lord, if he was caught, would have to be killed.  Murderers of a single person are sent to Azkaban for a lifetime.  Surely, someone who has orchestrated a genocide deserves more."

"But at what point are we the same as them? What makes us different is that we stick to our morals, that we don't compromise them for a purpose."

She didn't respond, opting for silence to meet his words instead.  Drake merely shifted a piece of paper on her desk, shifting her eyes downward briefly before they flashed back up to his face.  "If death is the worst thing that can happen to any of us, then why do so many face it for others? I find it difficult to believe that you would not die for a friend, and you are so willing to join the Auror program, where death is not only fine print but a headline. So it is not only people whom are worth dying for, but causes.  Principles."  James mulled over her words, but she didn't stop talking.

"You claim life is always worth living, but who deems that worth- the one dying or the one who has to keep living?  It's not death that disturbs your morals, James- it's loss."

The truth of her words was not warm and inviting, but cold and metallic.  He wanted to shrink away from it, but gritted his teeth as he stared back.  Her seven questions had been asked, but James knew that they weren't random- they had been planned to lead him to this conclusion, to this reality; so he would draw the line between this conversation and his life, and realize that i wasn't his mother's death that hurt him, it was the loss of her, and he understood that those were two very different things.  

"It isn't just about me," James said, his voice rising steadily.  "My mum dying is about _her_.  It wasn't her time to go, she wasn't ready."

"Charlotte was old, surely she knew that it couldn't go on forever."

"Fine, but she didn't deserve to die like that! She deserved to die with dignity and peace! Instead, she-"

"I understand why you're angry, James.  But you have to realize- your mother lived far beyond the expectation of any Healer.  She was sick.  She knew she was going to die. Surely, it would've been easier to give up, but your mother stayed.  For Harold. For you.  She fought to stay for both of you, because this loss really is worse than death.  Charlotte died how any other witch would've with that disease- harshly.  It is not about what she deserved, it's about what she got.  I know it's not what you want to hear right now, but it was her time."

"Says who?" James shouted, rising to his feet.  "Who says it was her time? Who gets to decide?"

"It's no one's choice.  It's a part of life.  If you say life has inherent value, you have to recognize that part of that worth comes from that reality that it is not infinite.  It ends.  Charlotte's death is no longer about her- she played her cards, she lived her life.  Her death is about those that she left behind. She-"

The door opened slowly, but the distraction had been enough for both of them to pause as Amos Diggory hesitantly looked around the room.  "Sorry," he said, "but this just arrived for you, Miss Drake.  It says urgent, so the Headmaster had me run right over-"

"Yes, bring it here," she commanded in a very McGonagall-like tone.  Diggory rushed down to give it her, nodding in recognition as passed James.  Drake snatched the letter out of his hand, shaking her head sharply as he made to leave.  "No, I might want to respond quickly.  Stay."

Diggory nodded as she scanned the letter from her desk.  "Sure thing."  Drake pulled out her own sheet of parchment and quill as soon as she set the letter down, beginning what James presumed to be a very dull response.

"Hey, Potter.  Quidditch game Saturday, right?"

"Yep," James answered curtly.  "You'll be playing, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it.  Gonna be a great match."

"I wouldn't plan on it lasting too long.  Angela caught the Snitch in six minute last night at practice."

"Right... Well, best of luck...." Diggory said awkwardly, looking relieved when Drake handed him her letter.  He was almost out of the room when he halted at Drake's words.

"Diggory- you're the one dating Lily Evans, is that right?"

He nodded, grinning broadly.  James wondered if such a broad grin would make it easier to knock all his teeth out.

"Well," Drake said, "that is a great match."

But she wasn't looking at Diggory.

 

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's bared with me so far- Nine chapters, that's farther than any other fanfiction I've ever written! Keep me motivated, write reviews! Seriously, how else am I supposed to procrastinate my college applications? Holiday homework? Having a social life? Writing my debate cases? Pssh, take a moment and remind me where my priorities should lie.**

 

 

 


	10. Predicting His Move

The Sorting is stressful for some first-years.  It never was for James.  Even at eleven, he was sure of himself, and had made friends with Sirius Black within five minutes on the train while other first-years were too nervous to introduce themselves.  He'd been expecting the Sorting ceremony, although he had heard rumors about wrestling a troll, so he felt no need to comment with McGonagall set down the stool and the hat.  

The Hat agonized over Sirius' decision for quite a while, but eventually placed him in Gryffindor.  James had cheered louder than any other first-year, making sure that Sirius had saved him a seat like he'd asked.  Some of the older students had noticed the scrawny bespectacled boy, the one standing calmly while the students around him shook and gnawed on their fingernails.  One had pointed to him and said, "Born Gryffindor. Care to put five Galleons otherwise?"

His mate hadn't been stupid enough to take that bet.

When James was finally called, he'd sat down on the stool, feet dangling, with as much confidence as a king on his thrown.  McGonagall had dropped the Hat on his head.  He'd expected an instant decision, but the Hat decided to whisper something in his ear first.

_"Merlin, they couldn't give me a simpler choice."_

And since then, James hadn't done anything to prove the Hat wrong.  He was practically the poster boy for Gryffindor- brave, impulsive, noble, daring, confident, hot-headed, and with a knack for winning.  He'd been taught that Gryffindor was the best house, that even the negative qualities of those within it were to be preferred.

What he hadn't realized yet was that the weaknesses of a lion were the ones most easily exposed.

 

 

"So- did you fuck her?"

James usually sat with his team and discussed last-minute strategy the morning of a match, but Diggory had coincidentally decided to sit with Lily again during breakfast.  Not about to discuss tactics within any sort of hearing range of the Hufflepuff Keeper, James had shouted at his team to eat while touching nothing himself, and then retreated to the end of the table with the Marauders.  Regardless of his empty stomach, he felt it lurch at Sirius' question.

"W-what?" he asked stupidly, though he knew perfectly well what Sirius had said.

"Did you shag Lizzy last night?" Peter clarified.  

"Well, yeah," he admitted.  "Why? Is she looking over here?"

"Yes," Remus answered, scooping eggs on his plate. "She doesn't look angry, though. More day-dreamy."

James groaned. " _Shit."_

__"How is this a bad thing?" Sirius asked, practically consuming an entire plate in three mouthfuls.

"The shagging isn't a bad thing, don't be daft," James said. "But I knew that it was a bad idea to shag her last night, but I haven't had sex in months.  It's just... now she's gonna expect something outta me, right, Moony?"

Remus sighed, but he'd been resigned to his role of advisor for years now.  "If by 'expecting something outta you', you mean that she's going to want to be more serious, then I'd expect so.  Lizzy doesn't strike me as the shag and run type of bird."

"Look, Prongs," Sirius said, adopting a paternal tone while he slung his arm around James' shoulders. "It's not that difficult.  Just play the line between a serious relationship and a casual one for the next few weeks, get a couple shags, and then split."

"Yeah, that's a fantastic plan, Padfoot," James began sarcastically, "except for the fact that she's on the team.  Our last match is at the end of May, and I can't risk breaking my team."

"She'll have almost three months to get over it if you do it soon," Remus pointed out.  "Your team unity should be fine.  Just get a move on.  It's not like you really fancy her anyway."

"That's not true," James objected, though clearly with not as much passion as usual.  "I do fancy her. Just-"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. You're a good guy, blah, morals, blah," Sirius said, waving his hand impatiently. "Was she any good? She looks like she could take a rough fuck, you know, and-"

"Come on, that's Prongs' girl you're talking about, mate," Peter cut in.  "I don't think you can just say that about her-"

"She can take a rough fuck, Padfoot's right.  Why would I be bothered?" James said. "It's just an obser-"

"Good luck, James!"

He turned as somebody patted his shoulder, but a mass of people was moving behind him to the pitch.  Had he not recognized the voice, he wouldn't have any inclination who it was.

"Since when has Evans been on a first-name basis with you?" Peter asked, eyebrows furrowed. "And isn't she still dating Diggory?"

James shrugged. "Gryffindor comes first," he supplied, suppressing a smile.

Sirius rolled his eyes, sharing a meaningful glance with all the Marauders before standing.  "Come on, Prongs.  You're gonna be late if you hang around any longer."

"Yeah, you're probably right," James said, standing as well and gesturing for the team to follow.  They rose nervously at the middle of the table, Troy stuffing one more piece of toast down his throat.  "You all go on ahead," he told the Marauders.  "I'll walk down with the team."

They nodded and, wishing him good luck, exited the Great Hall as the team approached him.  James smiled in greeting to Lizzy's unnecessary wave, the final rush of adrenaline coursing through him.  "Ready?"  Emmeline's nod seemed to answer for all of them, because not a two seconds after they were bursting out of the doors, brooms in hand.

"We are going to win this game," James said as they crossed the Entrance Hall.  "Just remember what-"

"Shhh!" Lizzy suddenly stopped, holding up her hand to silence them.  "What was that?"

The team halted, all straining their ears in the empty Hall.  The castle was near silent, only a few stragglers left- most were at the pitch already.

"Probably nothing," James affirmed.  "C'mon, Lizzy, we've got to-"

"Shut up! Listen!"

James sighed, annoyed at her antics when they should be going to a match.  He shared a skeptical look with Troy and Blake, whom both looked like they thought Lizzy'd gone mental.  

And then there was a barely audible sound, a quiet moan, almost a whimper. He went tense, waiting to hear it again, but the Hall was as silent as ever.  He turned slowly, searching for something out of place.  

_Thump._

"The door," Mary said, pointing to a broom closet.  "That definitely came from the door."

Lizzy dropped her broom (James winced as it hit the floor), and ran to the closet door, her expression far more worried than warranted.  He was proved wrong as soon as Lizzy opened the door.

A body crumpled to the floor, blood staining the stone instantly.  It flowed steadily from her ears, gushed from her mouth, and seeped through her eyes like tears.  Brown hair splayed the floor, but it had been obviously ripped from the skull at several spots.  The body did not move, the wrists and ankles tied with black rope.  

The entire team cursed and ran to the body, but James heard Angela clearly.  "That's Madeline! Oh my God, it's Maddie Brookings!"

James fell beside the body next to Lizzy, glancing over Madeline's paper-white face as he put two fingers to her neck.  "It's still beating," he mumbled, his hand plunging into his pocket for his wand.  But then he remembered it was upstairs, he didn't want it to lose it during the match.  

"She's barely breathing!" Angela cried from Madeline's other side.  She frantically started untying Madeline's bonds when Lizzy pulled her hands away.

"Don't! Those ropes are deep, you'll make her lose more blood!"

Indeed, the edges of the black rope were tainted red.  James didn't want to take the risk.  He hauled her off the ground, adrenaline making her seem feather-light.  "Lizzy, run down to the pitch and tell what happened.  Mary, Troy, Emmeline, and Blake search the castle for help.  Angela, come with me." His orders were direct, but his volume was hysterical.  They all ran in opposite directions, Angela following him as he sprinted as fast as possible with Madeline's weight.

"Are you... you sure that she's Maddie Brookings?" James huffed.

"Yeah, I'm sure!" Angela explained frantically, tears streaming down her face.  

"Thestrals!"

"What?"

But a portrait of Circe to their right popped open at James' voice, revealing a long tunnel.  They rushed through it, Angela's hands closing around his robes as the portrait closed, leaving them in the dark.

"Shit! Do you have your wand?"

"No, I-"

"Come on!" James yelled, ignoring her and running forward.  The passageway was complicated, but he'd traveled this route too many times to forget.  He cherished every inexplicable flicker of light, turning right and left, and praying that they'd end up where they needed to be....

"Push the wall!"

Angela didn't question him, leaving his side to push against the wall in front of them.  Light flooded the tunnel, the wall rotating from the outside.  The pair of them ran out, the picture of Ptolemy confirming they were on the right floor.

"C'mon, we've-" James began, but felt the all too familiar jerk on his ankle.  He fell to the floor, avoiding crushing Madeline by flipping on his back. He scrambled back up, but something forced him to the floor again.

"Potter, learn your place," Avery spat.  James heard several others chuckle behind him, and he knew this wasn't good.  "Kindly remain on the floor, would you? We don't want to get our shoes dirty, you see."

"Piss off," Angela responded.  "This girl is going to _die_  unless you leave us alone."

"Well, that would be a pity, wouldn't it, for the poor girl to join her parents?" Avery said as James stood back up, turning to see a smiling Avery and ten wands pointed at them.

"Maybe you don't care," Angela continued, "but even pieces of shit like you-"

One of them flicked his wand and Angela screamed.  There was a gash, shallow but long, across her entire face.  Blood smeared down her face, but her face betrayed no pain.

"Don't you dare speak, you filthy half-blood!"

"I've more wizarding blood than _half_  of your pathetic little friends!" Angela yelled.  She was suddenly flown backward, her petite body smashing into the stone with more force than any Bludger.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" James roared.  "Maddie will die unless somebody gets her to the hospital wing, and I won't let you gits-"

"Let us? _Let us?_  Potter, I don't think you've learned to count quite  yet.  There are ten of us, and neither of you have wands or you'd have drawn them by now."

"Oh, so it takes ten DEWBs to take on-"

"We don't react to plays on pride, Potter. Not all of us are so predictable."

"She's losing blood!" James yelled, as if this would change their mind.  His desperation was taking over his mouth as, even now, a pool of blood was forming around Madeline's fragile frame.  He suddenly realized his Quidditch robes were far too deep a scarlet.  "She has to get to the hospital wing NOW OR SHE'LL DIE!"

"You don't think we know every detail of her condition, Potter?" Avery jeered calmly.  "Actually, we're so familiar with it, _it's almost as if we could do it ourselves_."  All of them chuckled again, superiority permanently smeared on their faces, and James suddenly felt sick.

He ran forward, intending to beat the life out of Avery, but Yaxley jabbed with his wand and he flew backward again, the impact vibrating through every bone in his body.  He bit his lip to keep from yelping in pain, but his expression was enough to send them all into another fit of laughter.

"Is that the expression you give when Black has his cock up your arse?"

"Well, I suppose you'd all be very familiar with that look, wouldn't you?" James replied, standing up despite his instinct to stay on the floor.  "Probably practice every day with each other-"

An invisible force struck him in the gut, and he doubled over on reflex.  "You're all probably very acquainted with this position too, I bet."  Avery struck him, using his wand as a baton.  His glasses shattered on the floor.

"You're all going to pay for your clever remarks, Potter.  Grab the girl."  Three of them made for Angela, who he could just make out was leaning on the wall with a dazed expression on her face.  Maddie was closer, but he could recognize the red blur around her was growing. He wanted to fight, he wanted to 

"No! Stop!" James yelled.  

Avery held up a hand and the others halted.  He turned back to James, raising an eyebrow.  "Why?"

"Let Angela go.  Let her take Madeline to the hospital wing," James sputtered, his mind centered on a single notion.  "And you can have me.  Beat me up, humiliate me, whatever.  I'll take it."

"No!" Angela objected.  "No, take me-"

"Are they actually arguing this?" one of them asked.

"As it should be," Yaxley said.  "Gryffindors groveling to be put in their place."

"I'm a blood traitor," James said quickly.  "I'm James Potter, Hogwarts' Golden Boy.  You're not going to get this opportunity again."

Avery nodded, but still looked skeptical.  "And why can't I just do that anyway?"

"Because this way I won't fight back. I won't report you. And they'll be no revenge.  Open target."  He glanced behind him, the red and his desperation growing.

"And I'm just supposed to trust your word on that?" Avery questioned.  "And what about her?"

"Better my word than yours.  And Angela _won't tell a soul_ , right?"  When she didn't respond, James turned wildly to face her.  "You've got to get Maddie to the hospital wing.  She'll die."

Angela's body was blurry, but he could tell she was nodding.  "Alright, alright."

Avery remained silent, but James knew without seeing his face that he was tempted.  It was too sweet a deal.  He searched his mind for something else he could offer, but luckily, he didn't have to.

"Deal."

James heard Angela's rushed footsteps, heard her heavy breathing as she tried to carry Madeline to the hospital wing.  He heard her round the corner, her footsteps becoming progressively softer.  James heard all these things, and he imprinted them in his memory with great care.  Those sounds meant Angela was safe, and Madeline was getting help.  Those sounds would be his salvation.  Those sounds would hold meaning through every punch, every kick, every slash, and every ounce of pride he was about to lose.   

"I hope you're ready for this, Potter. It won't be over soon."

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Planning for the Next Hand

 

James always believed that if you survived the first strike, you could survive the last.  How many times had his mother told him the hardest part of journey was the start, and how many stories had his father told of standing up through one hardship only to secure victory? James had been in a fair amount of fights, and he knew that the first punch always hurt the worst.  At least, that was his theory.

After the first half hour, James knew he was wrong.

Everything throbbed, it all ached.  The fingers in his right hand had been shattered one by one, by what he didn't know.  There were cuts all over him, some long and shallow, others short but deep.  His muscles protested every time he flinched, the beginnings of bruising.  He thought it couldn't get much worse. But then it was one, two, three sharp kicks to the crotch, and he couldn't think much after that.

His mouth was full of blood; his teeth were red.  At first, James had thought it was from one of the many punches he'd received, but then he noticed the warm, thick feeling traveling up his throat just before he tasted metal.  He spit out tablespoons of blood, barely able to breathe because there was so much of it flowing out of his nose as well.  

They broke his femur with a simple swish of the wand.  The crack resounded in James' ears more than his own screams.  The only thing louder was their jeering and the echo of Angela's footsteps.  He knew the bone had pierced the skin because of the white blur in the center of the red.  James didn't think it could get worse until one of them pulled it upward with their wand; his cry gargled with blood.

He was thrown against the wall, the stone wall more forgiving than the humiliation that soaked through him as he heard zippers dropping and urine dripped from his hair.  The degradation was enough to make him close his eyes, to stop frantically trying to discern what was going on. The darkness behind his eyes gave him little solace- his shoulder was pulled sharply in the wrong direction, the tendons protesting for only a moment before they ripped.  The pain dissolved all thoughts of ignoring reality- it was there, sharp and clear, and _it wasn't going to be over soon._  

And then he was being dragged, to where he couldn't tell.  His vision was too blurry and his mind too unfocused.  James wanted to black out, but every time black crept into his vision, an intense burn crossed his neck.  He writhed involuntarily, but this only caused them to pull sharply on is collar, gagging him, forcing him to swallow the blood he'd just vomited. 

He was outside, James could tell- the wind brushed his cheek with an uncalled for care, and the snow quickly soaked through his clothes.  He could hear the people at the Quidditch stadium, and thought for sure that somebody would notice, that somebody would be running to the loo and see, or somebody in the top row would chance a glance over their shoulder. Surely Lizzy had explained what was going on by then, surely everyone knew there wasn't about to be a match?  He listened intently for a shout, or one of the Slytherins to whisper in alarm.  All he heard was confident orders.

"Knock him out, just to make sure."

"Why bother? He's as blind a bad without his specs, aren't ya, Potter?"

"I don't want to take any chances."

He didn't hear anybody mutter any sort of spell, or perhaps he just couldn't remember doing so.  All he could process was the sudden absence of pain.  Black finally overcame his vision, the sensation of all his limbs faded as his muscles relaxed and his mind went numb.

His last thoughts ought to have been something heroic; they should've been about Madeline and Angela being safe, that Madeline might have a chance to live now. At the very least, it should've been about the pain.  Instead, as he completely relaxed in the arms of his captors, James thought about how disappointing it was that the Quidditch game had been postponed.

 

 

" _Crucio!_ "

It was the first word James heard when he woke.  The effect was instantaneous- the agony flared throughout his entire body, as if knives were piercing every inch of his skin; something was burning white-hot from his insides out; his body was being impossibly compressed and stretched at the same time. Something was ripping at his skin, tearing at his bones.  Pain radiated up his spine as every muscle was being sawed slowly through. This amount of pain was impossible, but it wasn't just his chest or his leg, it was everywhere.  He instinctively tried to focus on something else, anything else, but there was only this agony, only this immediate desire for this to end. 

And then the world came back.  His eyes snapped open, a shrill sound still echoing in his ears.  He could hear laughter around him, but felt far too weak to look for the source. His body ached, the aftershock still coursing through him. He moaned involuntarily, his throat aching from screaming.

"Fun, eh, Potter?"

He didn't care who said that, didn't care to respond.   _Just leave me alone. Just let me be._

"Not likely, Potter.  You'll be here for some time yet."

Had he said that out loud? Before he could even summon enough energy to think about that for more than a second, he forced himself to roll over, vomiting whatever his stomach had left.  He could see that it wasn't yellow or white, but red.  Scarlet.

The memories hit him like a rouge Bludger.  James was suddenly very conscious of his right leg's limited mobility, the dull ache of his mouth, and the long, criss-crossing burns across his neck.  The air was freezing, and even James' limited vision could tell his skin was bright red from the wind ripping at his bare skin.  They'd stripped him of everything except his boxers, which hung sodden around his waist.  

There were several hulking structures to his left, ones that James could recognize without his glasses.  He was at the Hogsmeade Platform, black cloaks surrounding him.  James looked for a break in their formation, but there was none- he doubted he could've moved anyways.  He fell into the pile of his own sick, his eyelids fluttering.

"Potter? You brought _him?_ "

His eyes flashed open. James knew that voice. It was feminine, yet cold and harsh.  It was the voice of authority, of somebody who knew exactly where her place was in the world.  He turned over, trying to stand, but only fell hard in the snow as his leg collapsed beneath him.  He looked up, but he was too close to the mass of black cloaks that surrounded him to see any difference except hair color.

"You idiots! The Dark Lord has deemed him a priority, and you bring him here? What're we to do with him?"  A slap resounded through the wind, and all heads turned to one of the cloaks to James' right.  "It was the Dark Lord's orders, yet you all blatantly disobeyed!"

"How're we to know? You never told us-"

"Because you are not one of us! None of you have been deemed worthy yet.  You should not act so impulsively.  The Dark Lord will know of this, mark my words."

The black cloak moved closer to James, but her hood remained up, covering any large features.  She knelt, her hood now eye-level with James, as she gripped his hair so tightly he winced in pain.  Fingers closed around his chin, forcing him to look straight at her.

"I want you to understand, Potter, that while you are here in part because of who you are, you are also leaving here with no further damage wholly because of who you are.  Understand, Potter, that it was not your skill, bravery, or sacrifice that is saving you now.  It is your blood.   I know your family history, Potter, and I know that soon you'll be thinking about embracing foolish notions of nobility and resistance.  When you do, I want you to think about this moment, where you were at your most vulnerable. And I want you to think about what saved you."

She suddenly let go; his arms were too weak to support him, and his head hit the ground hard.  The impact made the world spin, and James wondered dimly how much blood he'd lost.  

"Your choice is coming faster than you think.  You can't win this."

Her last words brought back fights, drinks, curses and fluid wand movements. They brought back whispered words and the instinct to follow directions and improved skills and Hogsmeade and... it was _her._  

James was being dragged again, farther away from the woman.  His brain was foggy from blood loss, but he struggled to maintain focus.  Her image was becoming clearer the farther he moved away.  She pulled her hood down, and James squinted automatically, trying to discern any characteristic that could give her away.

"Knock him out again."

"I've got a better idea.  Snape said he perfected it after Brookings. Let's give it a shot, yeah?"

She Disapparated. But James had seen, had recognized her instantly.  He gasped, the sudden rush of oxygen making his head spin with only one thought.

It was Bellatrix Black.

He didn't have enough time to fully register that fact- he was dropped harshly on the ground.  He could barely feel the impact of the ground, his body was so numb.  The words spoken around him were faint and muddled.  All could catch was "bitch" and "we look bad".  And then one of them yelled.

" _SECTUMSEMPRA!_ "

He blacked out instantly.

 

_Valerie lies beside him.  He can tell she is sleeping, and he gently brushes back her hair to kiss her neck.  She is warm, and James wonders how long they can stay like this before they get caught._

_"I thought this wasn't supposed to get emotional?" She stirs underneath him, stretching so suddenly that she almost hits his nose.  He chuckles, but backs away all the same._

_"It won't.  I promise," he says as he rolls out of the bed.  "Otherwise, I'd be predictable.  We'd be falling right into our parents' hands.  And we can't have that, can we?"_

_"Indeed.  Alright, as long as you promise, then I suppose it doesn't matter what we do.  After all, we're still friends, right?"_

_"Indeed," he mirrors, shoving his shoes on._

_She sits up, grinning as he ties the laces. "You get dressed quickly."_

_"Practice," he explains, his grin growing to match hers.  "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? We still have to-"_

_"Right, the Gringotts thing,_ right. _I'll be over at-"_

" _Just past noon?"_

"JAMES! JAMES! MERLIN, FUCK, HE'S OVER HERE!"

_He swallows. "I've got to go. Dad's still out of it."_

"That's a lot of blood..."

"Is he going to make it?"

"Oh my God! Potter!"

_"I want you to understand... it's your blood.... your blood.... It is your blood..."_

Someone was sobbing, the wet tears fell heavily on his hand.  He wanted to open his eyes and see what was wrong, but his eyelids were too heavy to move, the sleep was too comforting to resist...

_Maddie Brookings stands in front of him, her body still soaked in blood.  It drips from her hair, and James is transfixed by the patterns it creates.  Her eyes are open this time, and she blinks at him several times before opening her mouth.  Blood spews out, but her words remain clear._

_"Too late."_

Everything ached. His eyelids fluttered, but it was too much work to keep them open.  It was night or early morning, he couldn't tell from the blurred glimpses he'd just seen. James breathed deeply, the cold air spreading feeling throughout his body.  Everything didn't just ache- it hurt, and James couldn't help but moan loudly.  

"You're becoming quite the hero, aren't you?"

James opened his eyes reluctantly.  Normally, he'd reach over to the night stand for his glasses, but he didn't think he had enough strength to move his arm.  And he didn't need glasses to recognize the owner of that voice.  The muscles in his face protested as he grinned despite himself.

"What makes you say that?"

"This, for one," Drake said as she crossed the room, her strides casual.  A chair suddenly moved across the room, halting at James' bedside.  He assumed she had waved her wand.  "The Whomping Willow incident, for another."

He swallowed as she sat down. "What incident?" he asked, feigning ignorance. 

Drake chuckled.  "You're a good liar. Excellent, in fact," she admitted.  "But I know too much.  Dumbledore informed me.  He thought it might help, and rightly so.  Now I know all about your little hero complex."

James closed his eyes again.  He didn't want to have this conversation. 

"As far as I'm concerned, your whole family had a bit of a hero complex.  I read up on your family history, and this Potter heroism goes back quite a ways. All the way back to the eleventh century, actually, where your family led the way for a genocide of all Middle-Eastern wizards."

He bit his tongue, but couldn't resist responding.  "Every family has a few Dark members.  We straightened out."

"Indeed... Well, let's talk about more relevant matters.  Like-"

"How did I get here?" James asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I found you.  I'd ask what on Earth you were doing at the Hogsmeade train station, but, judging from your injuries, I doubt it was a matter of choice," Drake said, the smile evident in her voice.  "You've been unconscious for over two days.  It's Monday evening- you're actually late for your appointment."

"Is that why you're here?"

"No, a staff member has to be watching you while Madam Pomfrey rests.  She's been awake since Saturday morning, keeping both you and Miss Brookings alive."

James turned his head wildly.  On his other side was a mass of brown hair and an obvious bulge beneath white sheets.  She was okay, she was alive, but James didn't feel relieved for some reason.  He felt anxious, as if the slightest movement on his part would stop Maddie Brooking's heart.

"How did you know?" he asked quietly.  "How did you know I did it to save her?"

"I didn't," Drake said.  James ground his teeth, upset that she had manipulated him so well.  "But I know you don't make a habit of skipping Quidditch matches."

"Will it be rescheduled?" James asked, almost sitting up in alarm but his side flared in a pain, causing him to groan.

Drake chuckled.  "Yes, it will be.  I believe Professor McGonagall termed it 'exceptional circumstances'.  But on to more important matters- Lily Evans."

James furrowed his eyebrows.  He'd just woken up after being viciously beaten by DEWBs, and Drake wanted to talk about Lily Evans?  He would've thought she'd be asking him questions left and right about how he got there, what they did to him, or at the very least who did it. But Drake seemed content pretending the entire incident hadn't ever occurred after she ranted about his "hero complex".

"Aren't you going to ask me who did this?"

"Do you want me to?" she asked.  

"No," James answered quickly. "Fine. Let's talk about Evans."

"No," Drake responded just as quickly. "Let's not.  I get thirteen next time, James.  I hope you have a good night."  With that, James saw her blurry form rise and greet a man with short white hair at the door.  Despite the dark hospital wing, James also didn't need his glasses to recognize this visitor.

"Dad- what're you doing here?!"

His father's laugh was deep but scratchy, as if he'd laughed a few too many times in his lifetime.  "Right.  What am _I_ doing here, not what are _you_  doing nearly dead in the hospital wing?" James could not see his face, but the blur of movement meant his father had turned to Drake.  "Would you mind leaving me alone with my son?"

"Of course not.  He's making excellent progress, incidentally."

James heard the door close behind her.  He didn't even have time to contemplate her words before his dad had taken the seat in front of him.  "I'm proud of you, James," he said, reaching for something on the nightstand.  "You did just what you should've.  Any Potter would've done the same."

Something cold and familiar was pressed against his face, and the world was suddenly clear.  His father had the same messy hair as his son, but his was white with patches of gray.  Even in age, his father's build had not become frail and small, remaining large and thick.  While the muscle from his Auror days had faded into fat, James still thought his father as an imposing figure.  The lines on his dad's face were more pronounced than he remembered them, but the prideful grin was enough to wipe the worry from his mind.

"Thanks, Dad.  I know I did the right thing, but I can't-"

"-tell me who did it? I know, son, I know. You speak quite clearly in your sleep, and that was a repeated phrase."

"What else did I say?"

His father was silent for a moment, awkwardly running a hand through his hair.  "Nothing important.  Mostly nonsense."

James raised an eyebrow at him.  His dad had never been good at lying; his mother had been the manipulator in the relationship.  Harold Potter was more about confronting things directly, while Charlotte had preferred to confront thing smartly.  Somebody should've been there with him, to help him where he obviously failed, to better deceive his son, but his other half was gone.  James glanced down at his father's hands, the gold wedding ring still sharply visible.  He supposed there wasn't a reason to take it off.

"Did I talk about Mum?" James asked clearly, though he could not meet his father's gaze while he spoke.

"A bit," Harold conceded. James had no desire to ask specifics, and he could tell that his father had no desire to give them.

"I'm just glad you're alright. I couldn't have lost you too."

The elder Potter's voice was sure and steady until the end, where it suddenly broke as he hunched over and started to sob.

Before his mother's death, James would've had no idea what to do.  Before his mother's death, James had never seen his father cry, let alone sob without abandon as he was doing now.  Before his mother's death, his father would've never broken in front of his son- Potter men had too much pride.  But that world before his mother's death, when everything had been storybook, had been burned and dissolved in acidic reality, where a sixteen year old boy was practiced in consoling his father.  A skill better left untouched.

"Dad, you're not going to lose me," James said.  "I'm fine, aren't I? I know how to take care of myself- I learned from the best, right?"

His father shook his head, chuckling lightly. "That's what I'm afraid of.  I barely lived past my thirties, James, and with this war... You'll do the right thing.  You'll fight.  And what if you die, what if you die?"  His father's voice rose sharply, though the tears suddenly ceased. "I won't lose my son."

"You will never have to lose me, Dad," James responded.  Silence enveloped both of them at his words, and, while James could not speak for his father, the cold feeling of dread settled in his gut.  His father would never have to lose him, that James was sure of, but what of the opposite? James would lose his father, and, judging by the heavy lines of Harold's face and the slow, unsure walk that accompanied him, it would be sooner rather than later.  

His dad looked up at him, blinked once, and then stated shakily a fact James couldn't argue with.

"I lost my better half, and it was the most painful process of my life.  I lived with and loved your mother for nearly seventy-seven years.  But I understand her passing- death takes each of us, and she lived a good life.  I'll never get over her death, but to lose a son... You take my word for it, James, the thought of losing a child is the most unimaginable prospect.  You expect to bury a wife, never a child.  Never a child."

James couldn't argue with this, not because he truly believed his father, but because he lacked all the experience his father so clearly had.  James had not been in love, had not married and loved someone for years, had not felt the overwhelming desire to be with someone forever.  James had not held a child in his arms, had not watched one grow and smile and cry and babble, had not seen himself in another human being.  But he would, and these words were to be thought over repeatedly in the future.  It was the type of advice that a father should never have to give a son, but that is often the type that is the truest.

_Never a child_.

Harold and James Potter talked for a little longer, but Madam Pomfrey poked her head in after an hour, looking rather frazzled despite her sleep, and insisted that James needed to sleep.  Harold stood up, told his son good-bye, and began to walk out the door when he turned.

"James- where's the watch I gave you?"

"In my dorm," James answered, puzzled. "Why?"

"Just... I'm sorry, where's the watch?"

"In my dorm," James repeated.  "Why do you want to know?"

His father opened his mouth to answer, but closed it quickly with an equally puzzled look on his face.  "I'll tell you later.  Just keep a hold of it, alright?"

James nodded, watching his father leave, complete with lined face and slow gate.  Pomfrey shoved some potion down his throat, making his eyelids flutter only briefly before blackness overcame him.  He was glad it did, because it left little time for him to contemplate whether or not his father would even remember this conversation a week from now.  Age showed in more than just the body, after all.  The head of the King was just as faded as the rest of the card.

 

**a/n: Sorry that this one took so long, but I feel I compensated nicely for the shortness in the last chapter. I also apologize for those of you who read the earlier version of the story that wasn't finished. I jumped the gun, but I really ought to get an award for skipping homework for this... like a review? ;)**

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. End of the First Round

There were some that thought that James had a bit of an attention span problem. "Some" meaning anyone that had seen him in class during a lecture, or the rare individual who had seen James actually read.  Both of these scenarios provided indisputable evidence to the theory of James' limited attention span.  "Indisputable" meaning only everyone but James Potter remained convinced.

In class, he found it very hard to stay sitting for more than five minutes.  He compensated by fidgeting constantly, whether it was tapping his fingers or moving his leg up and down, he had to be doing _something_. His classmates who sat around him were doomed to hear his rhythmical movements throughout the entire year, regardless of how many times they asked him to stop.  While the Marauders were used to it, there were more than a few students who prayed never to be assigned a seat next to him.

He didn't read very often; he preferred to be having adventures rather than read about them.  But one could hardly become an Animagi, pull off advanced pranks, or be mates with Remus without ever opening a book.  When that unfortunate event came around, it was actually quite comical to watch him read.  Not only did he continue fidgeting relentlessly, but about one chapter into it he lost all focus and had to pick up another book.  Luckily, James had an excellent memory, so simultaneously following three or four books wasn't a problem, but it did lead to many chuckles and grins from those watching.

Quidditch captain, Marauder, boyfriend, Hogwarts' Golden Boy... James took on all these roles because he liked to keep busy.  He loathed boredom, and, more so, the stillness that came along with it.  Despite his repeated occupancy there, the hospital wing was one of the most dreaded places in the school, because there was nothing to do there except sleep and whine to Madam Pomfrery. 

And while James hated staring at the ceiling during his waking hours, it was admittedly a relief to be able to _think_  clearly.  He felt like he'd lived a year of his life within these past two months and to have nothing else on his plate forced him to ponder over the events.  He appreciated the opportunity- really, he did- but James could only think for so long before he had to act.

 

"Let me take a wild guess- Lily Evans?"

The date was March 26th, another Monday, but also the Monday before his birthday. He was heavily bandaged; Pomfrey was still working on healing some of the Darker curses.  The hospital wing had lost what little charm it had left. Wormtail had brought him one of his "borrowed" Snitches, but even catching it had grown dull without anyone to admire him.  Admittedly, James had only been fully conscious for about half his time in the hospital wing- but most of that half had been spent arguing with Pomfrey about his injuries. Tomorrow was his birthday, and if he had to spend it in the hospital wing.... Well, there was no "if". He wouldn't be.

However, plans of how to evade the matron the next day were pushed aside as soon as Drake entered the room.  She'd been under strict orders not to come the last few weeks- Pomfrey was under the impression it would stress James out of recovery, a bit ridiculous in his opinion, but Drake had not argued.  This week, though, Pomfrey had finally succumbed.  Or at least that's what James assumed, since Drake sat in front of him, biting into an apple, perfectly casually.

"Lily Evans is a subject for later," Drake answered, shoving a gray wisp of hair behind her ear.  "I have twenty questions today- almost three weeks worth.  She might come about later, but we have different subjects to cover today."

"Fantastic," James mocked.  "Let's get on with it, then."

"If you're busy, I'm more than happy to postpone," Drake replied, grinning.  "You're not the only one I'm seeing today; perhaps you'd prefer to be left alone?"

She rose, striding towards the door, when James gave in. "Alright, I'm bloody bored and you know it.  Let's do this."

Drake turned nonchalantly, as if James' change of heart made no difference to her, and took her seat again.  For a moment, he thought she might admonish him for language, but instead she jumped right into her interrogation.  "Why did you save Miss Brookings?"

Oh, so _now_  she wanted to talk about that night? And what was wrong with Drake, asking a question like that?  How exactly was he supposed to respond to that? "Because she needed saving," James answered obviously. "What choice did I have?"

"You'd be surprised how little people would ask that question.  Many would have just ran to a teacher, went into shock, or stood by while others disorderly attempted to help.  From what I've gathered, you took charge.  You were very logical at a time of great emotion.  Would you say that you normally behave so?"

"That was different than a row or a fight.  Somebody needed to take charge, or she'd die."

"Why do you automatically assume that role? Surely other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team are leaders."

"I'm Captain," James answered, and then realized what a stupid response that was.  Because he was Captain of the team he was the leader in all situations? Drake raised an eyebrow, but seemed to glean from his facial expression that he understood.  

James expected her to pursue the question, but instead she merely lowered her gaze from his face to his exposed arm.  "Those are caused from more than tumbles down the stairs or scrapes against statues.  Those are caused by Dark Magic, that's why Madam Pomfrey can't heal them all.  Who did it?"

He swallowed, but kept his expression as neutral as possible.  It was a question he'd been asked repeatedly by Pomfrey and even McGonagall, but he hadn't told them and wasn't about to tell Drake either. Of course he'd told the Marauders, whom were patrolling the hallways at night to make sure no one else was injured.  Remus had convinced the other Prefects to increase the patrol schedule, and Sirius had called in a favor with some of the ghosts to keep watch as well.  He'd been told that Professors were constantly guarding the corridors, but all this gave him little ease. James knew that it was unlikely they'd attack with the castle full of people, yet the dilemma was still consuming.  He couldn't break his word- it was the only thing that had saved Angela and Madeline, the only weapon he'd been able to use, and reporting the incident shattered whatever honor and credibility it had. But it also meant that Avery and his mates still walked around the school, and they still posed a threat to others.  James was risking more than himself this time, and it was becoming more and more difficult not to give in.

James stared at Drake, opening his mouth to confess, when he saw the corner of her mouth turn upward.  "You're playing me," he said in realization.  "You already know who did it."

"Half of my work is pushing your boundaries, James.  But, yes, I do know.  Miss Brookings informed Professor Dumbledore of what she remembered, and Miss Warren was eventually subjected to Legilmency by the Ministry.  She did remain loyal to you until the end, though, it's actually quite admirable... But Avery, Mulciber, and their cohorts are being tried as we speak. Miss Warren volunteered to testify- I suspect you would've been obligated to as well, but both Miss Brookings' and your memories were deemed unreliable due to extensive injuries."

Though Drake's tone was objective, James understood the implications very well.  The Wizengamot was becoming more and more corrupt by the day, whether from pureblood mania or gold, and their punishment was unlikely to be severe.  James ground in teeth in fury, unable to wipe the image of Avery's smirking face in front of him, and he hurriedly asked, "What about the Board of Governors? They've been expelled, right?"

Drake pursed her lips, her objective mask cracking.  "Unfortunately, the School cannot expel them for a criminal act unless they're proven guilty of it. The code was recently adopted a week ago."

The injustice of it all pumped though James' body, causing him to sit up suddenly.  Pain flared in his side, but he ignored it.  He was about to stand up when Drake spoke.

"Why are you so upset, James?  They'll be free from punishment, which is exactly what you were going to let happen before."

He opened his mouth in indignation, but his gut knew that she was right.  "It's not the same thing," he objected. 

"Because the Wizengamot will let them go free for politics or money, whereas you would've done the same for honor, is that it?  You are so set in your morality that your father fed you that you do not understand the ethics of the real world.  What does it matter, the reasons why, as long as the same outcome occurs?"

"It's worth everything," James answered.  

"What is everything?"

"All that's worth living for."

"So friends, family, ambitions? You'd give all that up so you'd be morally justified."

"No, of course not, I-"

"Didn't you already?"

Her words froze his insides, guilt the only warmth. "Stop twisting my words- my actions this once don't apply to my entire bloody life.  You're not about to change my view of the world through one conversation." His words were confident, his tone eloquent, yet Drake did not seem fazed.

"I don't aim to change you view, James, only to question it. But this topic has been quite exhausted.  Let's move on- now, we'll discuss Lily Evans."

He fell back down on the bed, the pain in his side too intense to bear any longer.  "You're crazy.  Abso-fucking-lutely loony.  Do you really think that these sessions help me? Questioning everything about myself doesn't help me with my mother's death, or my so-called 'hero complex', or anything else in my life.  What is _wrong_  with you?"

"What do you like about her?"

"And why do you only ask a certain number of questions? It's absurd.  And what's your fascination with Lily and me? Why is it relevant at all to my mother? And how do you know everything about me; how come you can read me better than some of my mates?"

"Do you normally deflect when conversation turns to her?"

"I'm not deflecting, YOU are! It's a fucking stroke of luck that I turn seventeen tomorrow, because there's no bloody way I'll be coming to these things anymore."

Drake shrugged, as if James' voice wasn't bouncing off the walls.  Pomfrey swung the door open from her office, glaring at Drake with enough force to knock her out of her chair, but she apparently didn't notice this either.

"How do you feel when you see her with a boyfriend? With Mr. Diggory?"

"Amelia, Mr. Potter needs to rest.  You'll have to come back-"

"Jealous? Betrayed? Or do you just not care anymore?"

"Amelia! Get out!"

Drake stood nonchalantly, but her eyes remained fixed on James'. "There is more to life than death, James."

She left, Madam Pomfrey's eyes following her out with the precision of a hawk.  The door closed behind Drake, and James wondered if that really was the last he'd hear from her.  For some reason, he wished she would've said good-bye.  But, he realized as Pomfrey applied new bandages on his chest, she kinda had, in her own way.

"She's right, you know," Pomfrey said as he lied back down on the bed.

"I know, Poppy," he agreed reluctantly.  "I bloody know she is."

 

James slept most of his birthday, though he was fairly positive it wasn't from actual fatigue.  He was too hungry to refuse the meal that Madam Pomfrey gave him, despite the fact that it tasted too sweet and heavy.  He was sure she was trying to preempt the inevitable argument of whether he'd get to leave the hospital wing for his birthday.  It had been all he spoke of that morning, and Pomfrey had seemed rather eager for him to eat lunch at ten.  James wasn't able to decline, and, though he had known something was off with the sandwich about three bites in, he also knew from experience that whether he swallowed a milliliter or a barrel of Sleeping Solution mattered little- he'd be out within the hour.

When he finally awoke, it was seven o' clock, and Madam Pomfrey had her back to him, attending to another patient in the bed across.  His fingers fumbled across the nightstand and grabbed his glasses.  For the first time, he wondered who had brought him a new pair.  Probably Remus, who was the most responsible, or Peter, who was the most likely to remember James' needs.  Definitely not Sirius. Sirius was more likely-

"Get off me, Poppy! Id's jus' a fucking nose beed, jus' fix id alreaby!"

Pomfrey pulled out her wand, moving to the side to give James a better view of his best mate.  Sirius was sitting on the bed, his sleeve apparently preventing blood from streaming down his robes.  James jammed his glasses on his face, and even in the dim light he could tell that his nose was broken.  It was terribly bent to one side, and there was a clear beginning of a black eye surrounding it.

"Don't you two _ever_  get along with the rest of the school? I can't go one week without one of you ever being in here! This is absolutely ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous...." She tapped Sirius' nose sharply.  "That being said, I don't feel sorry for you. Not one bit.  Miss Meadowes was quite right in-"

" _Dorcas_  did that?" James exclaimed, the grin erupting on his face instantly.

Sirius spit a mouthful of blood out on a tray Pomfrey held out. "Shut up."

"Ah, mate, that was one broad you shouldn't have pissed off.  What'd you do?"

"You're just bloody eager for any news, aren't you, Prongs? I don't blame you, I've been here for five minutes and I've already been assaulted."  He glared jokingly at Madam Pomfrey; she rolled her eyes and walked away, muttering under her breath.  "Happy Birthday."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," James said, waving his hands aside. "I know, God's gift to the world has made another year, but it's getting a bit old. Seriously, I'm much more interested in what you said to piss Dorcas off so much."

Sirius stood, cleaning his robes with his wand.  "Just pointed out the obvious," he stated nonchalantly.  "She was being a right slut with Caradoc Dearborn, you know, so I told her so, and she flipped out on me. She punches me right in the nose, and it's obviously cracked, right? So then Evans comes out of nowhere and grabs my face, telling me to hold still when I'm just trying to, well, you know-"

"Not cry your arse off because you got hit by a girl?" James supplied.

"Right, and then Evans says in that real prissy voice, 'It's definitely crooked.' Like I didn't bloody already know that.  But then Meadowes is all, 'Well, then, it matches his prick.' I mean-"

James interrupted with some not-so-subtle chuckling.  Sirius glared at him, telling him silently to shut it, but James ignored the warning.  "D'you reckon it's the massive amount of inbreeding or the-?"

Sirius flew across the room, jumping on James' bed in a flash. The boys wrestled onto the floor, trying to keep silent so Pomfrey wouldn't hear from her office, but it was rather difficult on James' end.  Sirius twisted his arm, still sore from being pulled from its socket, and James instantly froze.

"Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Let go, Sirius, you bloody wanker-"

James' cheek hit the floor, and he felt Sirius' knee dig sharply into his back, pinning him to the floor.   _Shit._

"You should know better, Prongs," Sirius said, the grin noticeable even in his voice.

"Shut the fuck up, Padfoot, and let me go."

"Since you asked so nicely," Sirius replied, removing his knee and dropping James' arm.  Getting up was a much more difficult task than James remembered, but he managed, sliding back on the mattress with attempted ease.  The brief wrestling match had made James' heart beat much faster than expected, and he tried not to breathe so heavily.  Sirius noticed, though, the way Sirius and James always noticed what the other tried to hide, but didn't comment.

"I just don't understand what Meadowes' problem is," he continued.  "I know she hates me and all, but that was months ago. And I've called her a slut before, I don't know why she blew up this time."

"I think you're jealous," James confessed, his breathing normal again.

Sirius looked a little affronted, but then shrugged his shoulders in admission.  "I guess, maybe, a bit.  You know, she's real fucking fit, and I kinda miss shagging her."  James knew Sirius enough to know that was the extent of his feelings towards Dorcas.  Sirius wasn't jealous because he _liked_  Dorcas.  He was jealous because, in Sirius' view, Dorcas was _his_ , and other blokes didn't have the right to touch her.

"You didn't have a problem when I shagged her," James reminded him.

"Well, yeah, I don't mind as long as she had standards. You're a fellow Marauder, and damn good bloke. But Cadadoc Dearborn? Really, that's her alternative to me? Rather insulting, I think."

James shrugged.  "I suppose.  He's a bit off.  Evans says he can never get through a sentence at prefect meetings without stuttering."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.  "You pay an awful lot of attention to what Evans says."

"My God! What is everyone's obsession with Evans? Yes, I fancy her, alert the  _Daily Prophet_ , so we can _move on._ It doesn't need a bloody update every five minutes."

"Did I strike a nerve?" Sirius asked mockingly, pulling something out of his pocket and lighting it with a tap of his wand.  He took a long drag, smoke billowing out the end.  James opened up his hand expectantly, but Sirius shook his head. "Last one."

"Come on, I haven't had one in almost a month.  Give me a drag."

Sirius checked over his shoulder, but the door to Madam Pomfrey's office was just barely cracked open.  He passed James the joint, setting something else on the nightstand as well.  "Brought your wand.  Sorry, we just kept forgetting.  Been rather busy with everything."  He glanced fugitively at Pomfrey's door again, and then took his voice down to a whisper.  "Trial ended yesterday.  They were suspended- not that that'll matter a toss later on, but the school's fine until next term anyway."

James nodded, handing the joint back to him.  He didn't want to think about that night anymore.  "What's the plan for busting me out of here?"

"Well, it's very complicated, you see.  You'll put one foot in front of the other, all the way out the door, and then-"

"When's the party?"

"Who says you're getting a party?"

James grinned knowingly.  "Right, well, there better be plenty of drinks.  And Lizzy. Lizzy better be there."

"Don't worry about getting laid. Though you might wanna be out of the hospital wing by ten, incidentally. _"_

"Will do. I-"

"Mr. Black!" Pomfrey called from her office. "I think you have been here for long enough.  Mr. Potter needs to eat his dinner."

The two boys shared a knowing look, James shaking his head and mouthing  _now now now now._  Sirius nodded.  "Alright, Poppy.  I'm on my way out."

James practically sprinted out the door, Sirius not far behind, and, though it was just the same corridor of the same school he'd walked in for years, the first step into the hallway felt like freedom.

 

"It's odd, you know, I've never noticed this room was here!" Lizzy said, her words slightly mumbled.  "You'd think, in seven years of Hogwarts, seven years, I'd've noticed that this room was here- Nope! Nope, nope, nope! But it is great for parties!"

The music blared throughout the room, lights of various colors flashing intermittently.  There was an endless table on the side, the "punch" bowl magically refilling whenever the level was low- there was food, but it'd barely been touched.  More people were concerned with getting totally smashed, being one of many who could say that they couldn't remember James Potter's birthday party.  Doors kept magically appearing, couples disappearing conspicuously behind them; other, larger groups, closed the door behind them, joints or crystals or "Puff the Magic Dragon" bursting from their pockets.  James didn't mind- as long as people had a good time.

His mind was faintly fuzzy.  He was sure the drink had more than just alcohol in it, because the lights weren't just flashing, they _pulsed_ throughout the whole room.  He remembered that the Marauders had been with him at some point, but they were suddenly gone.  Lizzy straddled him, her lips moving sloppily across his neck. There were people dancing about two meters from them, but James couldn't really care.  His brain was on overload- everything was good right then, everything felt good.

Although, as Lizzy ran her hand down his chest, James wondered why there were so many people there.  Did they all really like him? Or were they just looking for a good time? For some reason, he thought of what Lily's birthday party must've been like.  Moderately fun, he was sure, since Dorcas planned it, but small compared to the mass of people in front of him.  People were probably at Lily's party because they liked her, not because they wanted to use her popularity.

And then he realized that it didn't bother him.

What _did_ bother him was that Lily was dancing with Amos Diggory.  Both were pointing and laughing at the various drunken people around them, both apparently sober, andboth were obviously happy.  Amos touched her shoulder, and Lily didn't react, thinking it very natural.  He whispered something in her ear, and Lily giggled as she gripped his shoulder.  And then he kissed her, and Lily was far from recoiling.  She leaned into it, and James could tell that it was because she wanted it, because she really felt something-

Lizzy rolled her hips, and all thought flew out the window.  She whispered something in his ear, something undiscernible because of the music, but James understood.  She stood, pulling James along with her, dropping her drink.  A door was across from them, a door James was sure hadn't been there before.  He opened the door, leaving the room of pulsing lights and flashing music, turning as Lizzy slung her arms around him.  His glasses were removed, but James couldn't think about where she'd put them because her hand was down his pants; he pressed her against the wall, reaching to close the door.  He opened his eyes briefly, his hand finding the door, and, just far enough to be clearly seen was a head of red hair.

Almost as if she could feel his gaze, Lily turned, her eyes meeting James' for only a moment.  He could sense her disapproval more than see it, and he swore that she took a step forward.

The lights flashed, leaving everyone in darkness for a millisecond.  But it's quite amazing what can be conveyed, what can happen in a millisecond.  Amos' hand closed back on Lily's shoulder, so when the lights came back on she was facing him.  The door shut, James' eyes closed, and all sound from beyond the wall was silenced.  

He would not remember that millisecond in the morning.  She would.

 

 

 

 


	13. Open Hands

He began wearing the watch his father had given him Christmas morning.

It was slim and gold, practically weightless when he held it in his palm.  When worn for the first time, however, James felt as if he was wearing an iron bracelet, easily noticeable among his friends.  It wasn't until a week after he had begun wearing it that Troy Quiver saw it- "New watch, James?"- and none of the Marauder seemed to take interest in it at all.  Sirius, at least, knew the watch had been given to James the day his mother died, but whether he knew that James had taken to wearing it wasn't clear.  Peter once asked for the time, but didn't care when James told him as opposed to his usual "Dunno, ask Moony." 

James thought Lizzy would've noticed; the feeling of cold metal running along one's skin is difficult to misinterpret.  However, James' wrist rarely touched those whom he was no longer dating, especially when it was broken off due to "exam pressure".  To be fair, Lizzy needed an "E" in every one of her N.E.W.T.s in order to become a Healer, but in James' mind it was still an excuse, and a bad one at that.

Why his father thought the watch was so important, James didn't know, but he wasn't about to ignore any words said by him.  He had a single card left- and he wasn't about to waste it.

The watch was also invaluable in testing the Marauders' Map, a project they had on their minds for quite some time but no incentive to begin.  Now, they were provided with a very compelling one.  When the D.E.W.B.s returned to school next term, the Marauders wanted to be ready.  It'd been lucky that Lizzy had heard Madeline, but what if she'd been stashed in a closet on the floor above? What if she'd been thrown into a bathroom or an unused classroom? While Remus pointed out they could hardly be expected to check the Map every second of every day, James remained unwavered.  Peter always supported whatever James said, and Sirius was eager to use the Map for mischief, so the project went on.

Remus was the best artist out of the four of them, so he drew the school as close to scale as possible on a sheet of parchment.  Peter scouted for rooms that even they hadn't discovered yet, and Sirius and James retreated to the library to figure out some way for the Map to work at all.  

It is odd how life's circumstances interrelate.  One problem often becomes a solution to another; a card that disrupts a straight figures into a full house.  One is rarely able to predict how all the cards will play out, though many claim to.  Even they, though, are not in control of how one reacts to those cards.  It is those reactions to circumstances, planned or unplanned, that defines a player.  That defines a person.

James would never realize how many defining moments he had, because his concept of defining dealt much more with fighting and scars than it did with words and mentality.  It was a pity that he would never realize this, because if he had, he would've known that every moment of every day has the potential to be defining.  So it would be best if one didn't fuck up.

 

According to the watch, it was 11:05 p.m., not that James was paying much attention to it.  In fact, his arm that wore that watch was hung around Sirius' shoulders as they walked down the hall, their steps quite even though each held a half-consumed Firewhiskey.  Remus was upstairs, watching the Map to check its validity.  Peter was supposed to be on a different floor than Sirius and James, but neither could quite blame him for not wanting to be alone.

"You two are such fucking poofs," Peter proclaimed, watching as Sirius and James chuckled at some inside joke.

"At least we've _been_  fucked," Sirius pointed out, taking another swing from his bottle.  "By _girls_ , no less.  More than you can say."

"We need to find you a bird, mate.  You haven't had a date since Heather-"

"Rebecca," Peter interjected.

"Whatever," James continued. "And she wasn't that good-looking anyway.  Nose was a bit off-center. You could do better."

"Do you think so?"

"No," Sirius said.  James and him lapsed into chuckles, Peter joining in half-heartedly, but unable to stop once started.  The alcohol was making all of them light-headed.  

"No, really, Wormtail," James said, the laughter still audible in his voice, "I'll talk to Evans tomorrow.  She likes you well enough, I'm sure she'll have a suggestion."

"Since when have you been so matey with Evans?" Peter asked, his steps slightly more wobbly than Sirius' or James'. "You two talk now without yelling.  It's weird."

James shrugged. "We made a truce.  A few months ago, when we all had detention.  And, I dunno, she seems fine enough since I've stopped asking her out."  He finished his drink with flair, throwing it against the wall so it shattered.  It'd become somewhat of a habit ever since the shards had saved his life in the Shack.

"You never mentioned it," Sirius declared disdainfully, finishing his drink as well, but he passed the empty bottle to Peter instead.  

"I kinda had a lot going on," James replied, matching his mate's disdainful tone.  "What's with you lately? Every time I bring up Evans, you start being a little bitch."

"Oh, get it, 'cause I'm a dog? Clever, Prongs," Sirius evaded, messing up James' hair as he pushed him away.  "You know this whole 'truce' business is going to disappear as soon as she catches you having fun, right?"

"Probably," James admitted. "But might as well enjoy it while it lasts. At least I can bloody talk to her now without her glaring at me."

Peter set the empty bottle on the ground.  "Yeah, that'd be cool if you'd talk to her, mate.  I _do_  need a bird. Do you think she'd be able to get-?"

"PRONGS!"

The scream came from James' pocket, which he suddenly noticed was radiating heat.  His hand pulled the two-way mirror out, Remus' frantic face greeting him.  For a second, James wondered why Remus' face was usually where Sirius' was, but then he remembered they'd left it in the dorm so he could contact them in case of an emergency with the Map.

"What's wr-?"

"Lily is coming down the hall! Take the passageway to your left- quick!"

The three boys turned as one, Peter and Sirius scrambling through the tapestry of Alexander the Great, James moving to follow them.  Something rolled from under his foot, and his slowed reflexes only barely caught him as he fell forward.  The clink of the bottle hitting the wall echoed in the corridor, Sirius and Peter's hurried whispers urging James up, but he had only just gripped the tapestry when he saw the dreaded light out of the corner of his eye.

"James?"

It takes him a moment to comprehend the tone of her muffled voice: not the accusatory disapproval he expected, but an apprehensiveness he had rarely heard.  He lets the tapestry slip from his fingers, moving away from the wall just in time for the light of Lily's wand to wash over him.

"Yeah, it's me," he said unnecessarily, musing up his hair half-consciously.  "What're you doing out this time of night?"

"What am _I_  doing?" Lily asked, raising an eyebrow and her wand.  " _I'm_ patrolling.  You, I'm guessing, are not.  What are you doing-? Never mind. I don't want to know."  She shook her head, but James could see the smile.  "Do you ever learn?"

"Occasionally. Do you ever have fun?"

"Occasionally," she mimicked.  James smiled, suddenly thinking perhaps he wasn't doomed to detention after all.  It was the last week of the year, maybe she'd take pity on him....

"Are the Marauders with you?"

"Nah," he lied easily.  "It's just me.  Couldn't sleep."

"Well, you're certainly not the only one."

"Mind if I walk with you?"  The question left his lips before he'd even begun to think about it, but everything felt like a good idea right then.  Her face wavered, clearly caught in some sort of dilemma, but James flung his arm around her shoulders before she could answer.

"I'm so delighted you agreed."

"Are you drunk?" Lily asked, suddenly affronted as she pushed him off of her.

"A bit," James admitted, deciding lying wasn't really an option at that point.  "I'm legal, now, aren't I?"

"I don't care if you're older than Dumbledore, it's not permitted for students," Lily argued as though she'd said the same line several times before that night.  She probably had.

"Come on," he urged.  "Have some fun.  Better yet, let _me_  have some fun. A week before bloody school ends.  Are you really gonna give me detention?"

She shifted her weight on her other foot, but he could see her resolve breaking.  James grinned what he hoped was a charming smile, but it did nothing to change Lily's expression.  She placed her hand on her hip, a bad omen, and he knew he had to act fast.

"What if you take points off?" he suggested. "That'd be fair. Then you are doing something to deter me, after all."  It was of little consequence whether she took five or twenty points- after the last Quidditch match, Gryffindor was up by eighty points, a gap not likely to be filled in the last week of school.

Lily took her hand off her hip. "Alright, then. Five points from Gryffindor." She grinned, clearly relieved to have been given an alternative.  "As for wandering the halls, let's just say you were helping me with patrols, yeah?"

James laughed.  "Okay, Evans, you got yourself a deal.  I'm helping with prefect duties," he stated sarcastically.  "Do you make exceptions for Dorcas with the rules? Because you know _she_  sneaks out after hours."

"Of course I don't.  Just because she's my friend doesn't mean I give her special treatment," Lily objected.  "But if I were to find her or any other friend in the hallway after hours I might be a little more inclined to ignore the.... the... _extent_  of their wrongdoing."

"Well, then, I'm glad we're mates now."

James felt his chest expand almost painfully as she smiled sincerely, her eyes glinting as she stared at him.  "Me too," she said, starting to walk down the hall with him.  "And I'm incredibly relieved that you've stopped asking me out.  Finally given up on a challenge, have you?"

"Something like that," James agreed, falling into step with her.  "Though now that you mention it, would you go-?"

"Potter!" 

"-left? I have a nasty feeling Flitwick saw me near his office."

"Oh," she sighed, looking abashed.  James chuckled, glad to have predicted her so easily.  He stumbled over his own foot and had to grip the wall for support.  Lily giggled, and James suddenly started laughing for no reason at all.

She raised an eyebrow as she stared at him incredulously.  He held his stomach in an effort to suppress the chuckles from rising, but he felt the painful vibrations and a few stray tears slide down his face.  Lily smiled nervously, looking torn between joining him and taking him to the hospital wing.  

"You must be so smashed," she stated when he had finished his laughing fit and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Nah, just a little over the edge," James corrected.

"Then why were you laughing?"

"Why do I need a reason?" he asked. "Since when do I need a reason to laugh?"

It was a question that nonplussed Lily, but it couldn't be simpler to James.  She didn't understand the fun of throwing cards on the table randomly, strategy forgotten, playing for time, not victory.  It wasn't something James was very likely to do in a real game of cards, but life was different.  To him, cards were not a gamble. Life was.

"Mr. Potter?"

Dumbledore stood at the end of the hallway in brilliant blue robes, smiling softly.  Lily's eyes widened in panic, clearly searching for an excuse as to why she'd allowed James to wander the school after hours, but Dumbledore raised a hand to stop her.  "Thank you, Miss Evans, for locating Mr. Potter for me.  I'm afraid he can be quite difficult to find, seeing as he is never where he should be."  He walked towards them, appearing to glide since his robes extended to the floor.  "We're going back to look in the Mirror, Mr. Potter.  You're welcome to join us Miss Evans."

Lily's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she nodded, curiosity getting the better of her.  James was not very fazed, his face impassive. Part of him cared as to why Dumbledore was taking him to the Mirror again, but the mystery wasn't particulary enticing with firewhiskey smothering his brain.  He was slightly concerned about Lily's presence while he revealed his deepest desire, but not enough to voice any objections. The pair followed the Headmaster down the corridor, both making an effort to lengthen their strides to match him.  

Yet he did not lead them to the classroom James expected him to- instead, they went all the way down to the dungeons.  They passed Slughorn's classroom, walked around several suits of armor, and took a few turns that even made James confused as to where they were.  Dumbledore suddenly grasped the handle of a door in an alcove without any warning, making Lily run right into James.

"Sorry," she mumbled, but hurried into the classroom right after Dumbledore.  James smiled, imagining how curious she must be and felt instantly superior. 

The Mirror had been placed directly in the center of the classroom, as though the person who had put it there had realized the pointlessness of trying to make the gigantic golden shape inconspicuous in a completely empty room.  Dumbledore closed the door after James, and a loud _click_  alerted them all that the door was locked and that whatever happened in this room wouldn't be shared outside of it.

"What is it?" Lily asked after an awkward silence, staring into the reflection of the three of them.

"A damn good-looking bloke, I'd say," James said, spotting Dumbledore smile out of the corner of his eye.  Even Lily flashed him a smile, and he felt a warmth seep through his chest.  He reminded himself that the only reason she deigned to beam at him was because of their newfound friendship, and the warmth became cold very fast. "It shows what you want the most," he continued seriously. "Only if you stand right in front of it, though, and only you can see it."

Lily turned back to the Mirror with a new respect, and James was sure he saw a bit of fear in her eyes before she blinked it away.  Dumbledore stood purposefully off to the side, and James understood what he was supposed to do, though not why.

He stepped in front of the Mirror, and saw something he did not expect.

There he stood with the Marauders on either side of him, all grinning, but he was older, though it was only noticeable by the few inches added to his height and a slightly broader frame.  His arm was slung around Sirius' neck, much like it had been that night, watch and all.  The group was standing in front of a house, _his_  house, a Christmas tree visible in the window.

It was a December 25th of the future, one where James was smiling, not crying; one where his arms were wrapped around his very alive friends, not a dead mother.  It was a Christmas where James was not grieving, where he had healed and was living his life.  

James could not tear his eyes from the image, feeling the guilt stain him.  How could he want a Christmas where he wouldn't remember his mother? Was he that selfish that he didn't even want to mourn on the day of her death? He tried to convince himself that maybe this was just a Christmas where her death hadn't happened, but the watch on his hand betrayed a wish consistent with the past.  Besides, where was his mother in the Mirror if he wanted to be with her? He was so disgusted with his deepest desire, but he couldn't look away.

"James?"

He didn't respond, deciding not to hear the voice demanding his attention.  He looked so happy in the Mirror, so content with life.  Even as he watched his other self threw his head back and laughed so thoroughly that James could hear it.  How could he want this? The James in the Mirror seemed completely oblivious that this was the anniversary of his mother's death, more concerned with making jokes and shoving Peter's face in the snow.

"James?"

But he pushed the voice out of his mind as the Mirror blurred, clearing to show himself, the same James who'd been shown only a few moments before, in front of a grave.  He didn't need to hear his voice to know what his other self said, didn't need to see the other half of the gravestone to know that he'd placed a flower on the ground.  The Mirror blurred again, and he was back with his mates, laughing as Remus pulled snow out of his trousers.

A hand closed around his shoulder the same instant he felt the relief of recognition wash over him.  The James in the Mirror had not forgotten his mother's death.  He'd just made peace with it.  James' chest ached with the desire for this to be reality, but he understood the Mirror's danger.  He could not become obsessed with the image; he would _not._

"I'm fine," he answered automatically, and Lily gingerly slid her hand off his shoulder.  He didn't need to ask what Dumbledore wanted, and Lily's presence didn't bother him anymore.  His desire wasn't selfish, it was empathetic and necessary.  "I see myself having made peace with my mother's death," he admitted, his voice strong and controlled.  

At James' words, Dumbledore nodded, as if he was a proud father looking at his son.  "Very well.  Thank you, James. I know I have asked so much of you, and I think the courage you have displayed in front of this Mirror is equal to any you have previously shown."

He wanted to point out that fighting a werewolf had been a lot fucking scarier than admitting his deepest desire in a room of two people, but he decided that it probably wasn't to most people.  

That, and Lily suddenly embraced him with enough force to stop Hagrid in his tracks.

"Ooph!" his exclaimed, regaining his balance at the last second. "Lily! What're-?"

But he stopped speaking as soon as he saw Lily's eyes focus on the Mirror. The force of the gesture had knocked James slightly to the side, and Lily was now directly in front of her greatest want.

Her mouth dropped slightly, her arms slackened around his torso, and she took a tentative step forward.  Dumbledore stopped in mid-step towards the door, and Lily let go of James completely to stare at whatever she was seeing.

"I hope Hogwarts presents the two of you with a pleasant evening."

Lily and James turned, but the door closed with a final _click,_ Dumbledore already on the other side. James knew it would be a hopeless endeavor to run after the Headmaster, but the the questions in the back of his mind propelled him forward, caused him to lean out the door, made him shout, "Professor!" into an empty hallway.

_Why did he want to know my deepest desire anyway? Why again?_

He looked back at Lily, the pair of them locking eyes.  Her hand was pressed against the glass, and James half-expected her to say what she had seen.  He stared at her, both for a possible motive for Dumbledore and a description of her deepest desire, but Lily only slid her hand off the glass.

"You should probably get back to bed."

James understood.  Not everyone could be expected to share what they saw in the Mirror. Not everyone could be as open and trusting and faintly idiotic.  Some people were cynical and smart, and James could hardly blame them.  As he left Lily alone in the room, he wondered what it would be like if he kept his hand closer to his chest, if he didn't lay it out on the table for all to see.

"Prongs!"

He turned, Peter and Sirius coming up behind him, practically shouting that the Map worked, that they'd finally gotten it right. The rest of the night would be about celebrating their own brilliance and their new omniscience.  At the moment, he didn't want to think about whatever Lily and him and seen in the Mirror, and why Dumbledore had brought them there. It would all be reflected out, one way or another.

 

  **author's note:**

**So.... um... Yeah, I've got nothing. I should be used to this balancing act, but I'm not.  The chapter's up NOW, though, right, and that's what matters. I'm so eager to post it, actually, that I can't bring myself to read through it right now and edit it. Lucky you, getting the EXCLUSIVE uneditited edition, aren't you all special? In all honesty, though, I WILL correct any errors you all find, and I'll read through it tomorrow, though I'll probably forget to update this note, so I'll indefinitely be updating it tomorrow. Just thought I'd let you all know.**

**Review. Subtle, no?**


	14. An Undeserved Card

Harold Potter was losing his mind. It simply couldn't be ignored any longer.

James knew his father was old; it wasn't exactly a fact one could miss. But Mr. Potter had always acted so lively, despite an aching knee and occasional forgetfulness. His son was not concerned when Harold asked for the hour several times during dinner. Surely, at ninety-seven, his father had earned the luxury to forget the time and not be chastised for it. James did not worry when his father could not find a photo album, an album that was always kept on the top shelf in the sitting room. It was just another consequence of being old. In fact, when Mr. Potter forgot Sirius' name, despite the fact that Sirius had lived with the Potters for an entire summer, James deemed it only worth a laugh and a playful reminder.

But he could not ignore it forever.

He had been about to walk out the front door very late one night or very early one morning- James could not quite remember. After a series of sexually explicit letters had been flown between Valerie's and his own house, James was not thinking of much except how best to sneak to the Lucas'.  It was not being caught by his father he was worried about, but the house-elf, Blinky. He was wearing the Cloak, taking care to crouch slightly so the fabric would remain cover his shoes as he descended the stairs, when he heard his father's voice.

_Dad's never up now..._

He followed the deep mumbling to the bathroom door across the hall, where the floor shone as if a very thin mirror was reflecting the moonlight there... Water was flowing from under the door, and when James opened the door in alarm, the scalding liquid soaked through his trainers and socks. He did not know whether he gasped from the pain or the scene in front of him.

His father was completely naked, spinning in a tight circle as if dancing with an imaginary partner. His eyes were focused, and his words authoritative as he spoke. "Charlotte, you know I'm glad Claudes was elected Minister just as much as you, but I can't stand behind this new policy he's proposing about house-elves.... Clothes, of course not, but they surely can't run around without  _anything_ , can they?"

The irony was lost on James. In fact, he had never seen anything less funny than his father dancing nude in a flooded bathroom. 

"Dad!' James swung the Cloak off of himself, dropping it in the water as he sloshed forward. He wanted to say, 'Martin Claude is dead! This is 1977! Mum is _dead_!", but instead all that came out was, "I'm here! Dad, I'm here!" 

"Lottie, what-?" His father's face suddenly went slack, his eyes visibly refocused, and he shuffled over to the bathtub, turning off the faucet. James heard him muttering, but couldn't make out the words. Harold took his wand from the counter, Vanishing the water on the floor. The two Potters stood in the bathroom, James watching every move his father made, the other taking every precaution to avoid his son's stare. Still completely nude, Harold sunk into the hot water, taking no notice of the displaced water splattering the marble floor. 

"Dad... I'm here."

His father looked at him, actually _saw_  his son for the first time that morning. Because it was morning, the watch that hung from James' wrist said so. He compulsively checked the time as Harold eyed it. It was 2:03.

James could feel the stiffness in the air; the warm water did nothing to relax the tension. "Dad, I-"

"I know that you are here, James," his father said suddenly, his deep voice steady but furious. "I am perfectly aware of my surroundings. Now leave. Leave your old, forgotten father whom forgets all but the old."

"Dad, you-"

"Leave!"

James could count on one hand the times his father had raised his voice to him, but it was not the rarity of the occurence that compelled him to obey. It was the way his father clutched his left hand, twisting the gold ring that hadn't left his finger, and James knew it was not water shining a path down his face. Scooping the Cloak from the floor, he hurried from the bathroom, fighting the impulse to comfort his father.

He passed Blinky on his way out the door, but she did not even look at him as she scurried across the wood floor, her bare feet resounding in the high-ceilinged hallway. "Master Potter, Master Potter! Blinky came to check, yes she did, if Master Potter was alright-"

But James did not hear the rest. The heavy front door closed behind him, the wind roaring in his ears almost as much as his thoughts. He had no desire to shag Valerie anymore, but his feet carried him automatically.

It was an odd hour of the morning to be out, especially in an area so secluded, but his thoughts blinded him to the figure approaching.  He would have collided directly into her, had she not put a firm hand on his chest to stop him.

"James?" Her hand touched his cheek, but she retracted it sharply, as if it had been burned. "Are you alright?"

He looked up at her from the floor, noting seemingly insignificant features in this moment of indecision.  He couldn't find a single freckle on her face.... _What do I say? My dad's going barmy?_.... She was shivering; he doubted she was wearing much underneath her cloak.... _Does she care?_.... She bit her lip softly before bringing her face closer to his...

She kissed him. And for a moment, it was very simple. He was not okay, but there was no pressure to reveal everything to her. His emotions with her did not have to complicated- in fact, they could be solely primal. James did not want to run from what he felt, he just wanted to stop and breathe.

James didn't- _couldn't-_  realize the irony of the situation. The moment was exactly what he needed; it was right. The person kissing him was just what he needed too- practiced, kept her emotions separate, and able to turn such a dismal situation into an enjoyable one.

In short, she was all wrong.

 

 

"Don't you own your own bloody flat now?" 

Sirius nodded, continuing to violently chew on his sausage. "It onny haz a veb, 'dough. No bweckfst."

"Well, that's the price for leaving me," James replied, practiced at translating Sirius with a full mouth. 

"Looks like you have company all the same," Sirius said. "I saw Val leave this morning. Shame she goes to Boobattons." 

"Beauxbatons," James corrected automatically.

"Whatever. You still have time for that shit?" He was obviously enjoying quite the breakfast; two empty plates were already stacked in front of him, and the third was practically demolished.  

James raised an eyebrow, taking a seat across from his mate. "I'd be an idiot not to make time for that. She just wants sex, no real relationship. She says it'd be weird to see me that way, after we've been friends for so long."

"But she has no problem fucking you?" Sirius said skeptically, snatching a piece of toast from the plate Blinky had laid out for her master. James was quicker, though, and ripped the bread from his grip, shoving it in his mouth in the same movement.

"Er oo belous?"

"Blatantly," Sirius replied, equally as practiced at translating full mouths. "Do you mind if I shag her?"

"Not really." He took a long drink of juice before placing the goblet on the table with a certain satisfaction. "You could at least wait until I'm done before you claim my seconds, though."

"Well, since you're my best mate, I suppose I can wait the week it's going to take for this all to explode in your face. You do realize that she's the girl you've been promised to, right?"

"That's a load of shit, and you know it, Padfoot. My family doesn't do betrothals- Besides, marriage isn't really my cup of tea, know what I mean?" James responded, fixing Sirius with a comradely gaze.

"I hear you, but official or not.... It's sort of expected for you and Val to get together. And sleeping with her... Actually, this is probably you're best move to avoid marriage. She'll never marry you after she knows what you're like in bed!"

"Oh, and you would know?"

"Not personally, but you wouldn't _believe_  how Moony gabs-"

"Go fuck yourself," James spat but grinned all the same.

Sirius barked with laughter, leaning back from the table. Blinky entered the room as if on cue and took his empty plates silently. Neither boy paid attention to her, house-elves being as common as mothers for them, but the door closing behind her was still a signal for the conversation to resume.

"Moony and I are going to Diagon Alley today. We might meet up with Wormtail, but his mum apparently wants to take him shopping 'for the last time'. You coming?" It was phrased as a question, but both of them knew it was just a confirmation that nothing pressing had come up. The Marauders, at least Sirius and James, went to Diagon Alley together every year, and tradition wasn't easily broken between the two.

"Yeah, alright, but you'll have to let me look at your list since we're taking the same classes. I haven't got my letter yet."

"What? It's a week before term! Taking their bloody time, aren't they?"

James nodded. "I thought it might've been because of my dad, but it's pretty clear at this point that he doesn't need me to take care of him. He's fine now, just every once in a while...." He trailed off, motioning vaguely with his hands. "Anyway, I should've got my letter by now."

"Maybe they forgot about you?" Sirius suggested sarcastically. James snorted. He doubted any professor, Headmaster or not, could forget about him.

"Right," he said, "I'll come with. Two work?"

"Yeah, that works. I'll tell Moony, his house is next on my breakfast run."

James laughed, standing up from the table. Blinky entered the room, again as if she had been called, and stacked James' glass and plate on top of a large pile of laundry before hurrying out the door. "Don't let me stop you," James insisted. "I have to talk to Mr. Lucas about Gringotts, ever since those damn-"

"Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!" Sirius exclaimed, ushering James back down with his hand. "I saw Evans yesterday." He declared this with such an air of superiority that James suppressed a chuckle.  "Saw her at Gringotts, she was apparently getting a head start on school shopping and all that. Bit awkward, really, since we both know each other, obviously, but I don't think she knew how to say anything to me without yelling. Anyway, I think she definitely grew bristols this summer. Not, you know, Bethany Williams level, but I wouldn't say that she doesn't have B's now."

James stared at Sirius expectantly. "That's it? You told me to sit back down because Evans' tits got bigger?"

Sirius shrugged. "Thought you ought to know."

Rolling his eyes, James stood up again, making for the door.

"She's Head Girl, you know. That should be a ruddy blast."

James snorted. "Looking forward to it. Look, I really gotta run, Padfoot-"

"I can take a hint. I'll get out of your hair- if I can find my way out of it," Sirius smirked, walking out the door to the hallway. "I'll see you later, Prongs. Meet us at Moony's."

"Right," James agreed, barging through the door to his right, entering the sitting room, where nearly everything was green. Even the marble of the fireplace had emerald veins running through it, and James was forcibly reminded of his father's words- "It's not a very Gryffindor room, is it?"  But his mother had insisted on green- "We can't have red and gold  _everywhere_ , Harold. Besides, why change it now?"

It was logic no one could've argued with. The house (well,  _manor_ , technically) had been in his family for ages, and his mother and father had lived in it for over seventy years together. There was simply no use in changing something that had worked so long for something as little as House pride. At least, it had been so for his mother.

 James lit the grate with a callous wave of his wand. The fire burned a bit fiercer than normally, singeing the rug before  it, but he figured Blinky would take care of it. He tossed the Floo Powder in; the flames crackled as emerald overtook them. Instinctively taking a deep breath before, James stepped into the fireplace, saying the Lucas' address as clearly and quickly as possible.

The visit to the Lucas' was mostly business- two wizards had been caught sneaking through the vaults of Gringotts the week before, collecting various treasures from pureblood families. The thieves had been caught within an hour of their arrival, but it was still thought best if security was increased. A goblin had been sent to consult the Lucas' and James about their respective vaults-Mr. Potter had been unable to make it. It was all for the best, however, because while Mr. and Mrs. Lucas remained oblivious, James knew for a fact that his father would've noticed Valerie and himself sneaking up the stairs.

 

Curiously, James recieived his Hogwarts letter at Diagon Alley in front of Flourish and Blotts. It mattered little; the boys had already bought all their books for the year, so there was really no need for it. James knew he'd be Quidditch captain again, and he could recite all the rules he'd broken by heart, so he stuffed the unopened envelope in his pocket.

James had entered Twilfitt and Tatting's almost automatically, but didn't consider Remus until he saw the price tags. He desperately needed new robes, but definitely couldn't afford that shop. Sirius pretended to find several on sale while James slipped Galleons in Remus' bag. While all the robes were bought, James had a feeling Remus knew when he insisted on buying him ice cream at Fortescue's later.

The three eventually did meet up with Peter inside Quality Quidditch Supplies, although James practically owned half the store. Then there was the apothecary, Gambol and Japes, Scribbulus Writing Instruments, the Magical Menagerie, where James bought a kitten on a dare from Remus, and then finally the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"Three firewhiskeys and a butterbeer," Sirius called to Tom as the boys took a seat.  

"Not today," Remus corrected. "Four firewhiskeys, no butterbeer. After dealing with you lot all day, I need a drink."

"Better get used to it, Moony," said Peter. "One more year."

"Only one?" James said skeptically, staring at the grey kitten inside its cage. "Nah, Moony, you won't get rid of us until the day you die."

"Are you honestly gonna keep that cat, Prongs?" Sirius asked, noting James' gaze. "You know Moony just dared you to piss me off, right?"

"I had no such inclination!" Remus mocked. "Besides, I think it suits Prongs. 'Specially after your owl died."

"Fish?" James asked, playing dumb. "Oh, yeah, how'd he die again?"

"He drowned," Sirius and Peter said in unison.

"The irony," Remus remarked dryly. Tom placed their drinks on the table, smiling toothlessly at each of them before slinking behind the bar again. "What'll you name this? Bird? Dog?"

"Bitch," James replied evenly. "That way Padfoot will like it."

"Fat chance," Sirius said. "Or is it slim chance? That always confused me, one's big like Wormtail and the other one's tiny like Prongs-"

"Hey!" Peter and James objected. 

"-but they mean the same thing." 

"I'm a lot bigger than last year," James insisted. "I'm almost a stone heavier!"

"Yeah, you grew a few inches too, mate," Remus said, completely bursting James' bubble. "Wormtail, though, yeah, I'd say you can see the difference."

"My mum's been feeding me nothing but lettuce this summer," Peter complained. "I'm so glad to go back to Hogwarts." He threw his arms behind his head, knocking over Remus' firewhiskey. The amber liquid gushed from the bottle as it rolled across the table; James caught it by the neck before it hit his lap, but the liquor still seeped through the old wood table.

"You're buying me another drink-"

"God damnit, Wormtail," James said, standing up with a wet lap and feeling his pockets for anything that could be damaged. He pulled the letter out, dropping it heavily upon the table.

Remus' eyes widened and he lurched for the letter in the middle of Peter's hurried apology. He tore it open amongst his suddenly silent friends, pulling out James' school list, a letter that supposedly told of renewed captaincy, and a silver badge.

" _No way."_

"That's not a-"

"Are they fucking with us?"

"Maybe it's supposed to be Remus'-?"

"'Dear Mr. Potter-'"

Sirius had snatched the letter from the middle of the table. The other three went instantly quiet, listening as Sirius continued in a ridiculously pretentious voice:

"'Since you no doubt have seen the badge before reading this letter, I will not waste ink alerting you of your new Headship. I have thought about this decision for some time, which has caused a considerable delay in your letter's arrival. While many of the staff have questioned my appointment, I remain convinced that you are the right, though perhaps not the best, choice.'"

James picked up the silver badge, turning it over in his hand. "Is Dumbledore  _mad_?"

"Definitely," Remus answered. "He finally fell off his rocker." Yet despite his words, James swore he saw a knowing smile before he took a long drink from Peter's firewhiskey.

"Prongs, do you know what this means?" Sirius asked, his eyes glinting, smirk widening. "Imagine what we can get away with! You can tell prefects off of floors, take points from Slytherin, and do all the things Moony was too scared to!"

"I wasn't scared, I just... Dumbledore must be mad."

"This is brilliant!"

James tilted his head as he scrutinized the badge. "Didn't you say Lily was Head Girl?"

Peter groaned, Remus chuckled, and Sirius ordered another round while rolling his eyes. James swung back his new bottle, feeling the harsh liquid burn down his throat with a satisfaction that he could only faintly remember before.

"Hogwarts is going to go to the dogs," Remus remarked.

"Not just the dogs," Peter whispered conspiratorially. "But the rats and stags and wolves too."

"Let's make this year count," James declared, grinning as he thrust his drink forward for a toast. "We've only got one more."

"Only one?" Remus echoed as the bottles clinked. "Whatever happened to 'until the day we die'?"

They laughed away the truth of his words. The irony would've been visible to a lonely Moony, a terrified Peter, a caged Padfoot, and a long-dead Prongs.

 

 

  **a/n: I thought that summer meant more time for me write..... Yeah, that worked out SO well, didn't it? I actually found out that summer means more time for me to do EVERYTHING ELSE. I'm so sorry, I completely neglected this chapter, simply because it's obviously a transition chapter. Needed? Yes. Enjoyable? You decide. And you should let me know of that decision. With reviews.**

**That being said, I have an announcement. My next chapter will be betaed. Woot! I would have this one betaed too, but I've already made you wait long enough, I think.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Playing Against the Odds

In third year, Peter unknowingly changed the course of history.  

It was in History of Magic.  While Binns prattled on about the Goblin Resolutions of 1398, the Marauders were whispering in the back.  They had always been well-known throughout their year, but it wasn't exactly unheard of for a seventh year not to recognize them.  But that year had changed things- their pranks were becoming more outlandish and daring, James was the hero of the last Quidditch game, Sirius was becoming better-looking by the day, while Peter and Remus tagged along for the ride.  The attention was going to James' head, and, looking to further impress his classmates, he'd been taking challenges for the past week.

Blake Moors dared him to hold his breath for two minutes in the Black Lake at night- James held it for two minutes and forty-six seconds, starkers. He coughed up about a liter of water afterwards, but James had been quick to point out that he hadn't technically breathed.

Ian Sythers wanted to see him do a back flip off a wall.  Admittedly, it took James a few tries and a near-concussion, but after two weeks he pulled it off.

But neither of these stunts would compare to Peter's dare during History of Magic: ask Lily Evans out.  

At the time, Peter thought he was doing the group a favor.  He'd noticed James looking at Lily for no apparent reason, and he'd seen how his friend always seemed to mess up his hair whenever she was around.  Peter just thought he was giving James the excuse; he didn't dream that it would turn into an obsession.

So when James received a sharp "no" from Lily, he resolved to simply try again.  After all, it had worked for the wall flip, why not a girl?  But after several public rejections, he wasn't about to abandon the challenge.  Even at fourteen, James didn't half-ass anything.  He was going to request at every opportunity, intimidate every boyfriend, and if Lily wanted to be public about rejection, then he'd be  _very_  public about requests for a date.

Fourth year was unproductive, serving no other purpose except to solidify James' determination to win this game.  Lily was right when she yelled at him that she was only a challenge to him; truthfully, James thought she was a bit of a bint.  The extent of his affection was his appreciation for how red her face could turn when she was pissed, but it surely didn't approach anything he proclaimed it to be.

Fifth was much like fourth, except that this time James could feel something growing in his chest every time he looked at her.  He found himself going out of his way to impress her instead of just annoyingly demanding a date.  He'd deliberately cause mischief on the fifth floor because he knew she'd be patrolling there.  Sirius' complaints about her were suddenly met with resentful silence instead of eager agreement. But James did  _not_  like her, he'd remind the Marauders- it was only a challenge.

_It was only a dare._

__And it was, at the time. Then summer came, and James started to think things like _how is she doing_  or  _I wonder how she's changed_.  It was bloody Summer Holiday, but James couldn't stop thinking about red hair and reluctant grins.  Denial only worked for so long- he fancied her, he knew, and when the beginning of sixth year came around, James knew it wasn't a game any longer.

Well, not _just_  a game.

 

"What?" James stared at the mirror in his hand incredously, ceasing his frantic packing. His trunk lay open on his bed; various books, clothes, and a littany of other items were sprawled on the floor. He knew it would be an awful pain once he got to Hogwarts to sort everything out, but, like every year, he couldn't be bothered. It was 10:56 on September 1st, and James was running extremely late.

"Yeah, I know. The train's never late, but some Ministry bloke just told us all that it's being checked for Death Eaters and Dark Magic. They're a bit worried that students will be targeted," Sirius said on the other end of the mirror. He said it so nonchalantly that he could've been talking about detention, but James saw the weight in his friend's face. "Anyway- your shirt's on backwards, mate- you don't have to hurry up. I'm sure it's gonna take them the whole bloody school year to check the thing, so you've got plenty of time."

James dropped the mirror on top of his Quidditch gloves so he could right his shirt, but still kept eye contact with Sirius as he took it off. "Does this have anything to do with the raids?" 

"I'm sure. The Death Eaters have been rather busy as of late." James couldn't see the mirror as these words were spoken, as he knocked his glasses crooked when he pulled the shirt over his head, but he could tell it was Remus' voice. 

"Is Lily there?" James' voice broke in the middle, and he suddenly found himself unable to make eye contact with either of the faces displayed in reflection.

Sirius nodded, but Remus glanced around the station as if to double-check. "Yeah," the former said, "Moony asked her- the Evanses in the _Prophet_ weren't her family."

"Good," James sighed, stuffing the rest of his belongings in his trunk. "How 'bout Wormtail?"

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, he's here. He's been flirting with Meadowes for the past half hour."

"So it's Meadowes now?" Remus questioned, raising an eyebrow. "I thought the two of you were _extremely_  well-aquainted." James sniggered.

"That was last year," said Sirius, as if sixth year happened during the Dark Ages. 

"Is that the extent of your argument? ' _It was last year'_?"

"Oh, shut it, Moony. We'll see  you soon, Prongs, yeah?"

"Yeah, see you in a few," James said, placing the now normal mirror in his trunk. He closed it with minimal difficulty, picked up his broomstick, threw Bitch in a cage, and pulled his trunk off the bed.

Potter Manor was built more like a maze to a newcomer than anything else, but James maintained that anyone whom lived in Hogwarts could find a room in his house. He shut the door of his bedroom behind him, making sure to lock it magically- neither his father nor Blinky needed to be free to snoop while he was gone. James walked down the stairs, his trunk thumping obnoxiously at every step. 

His father stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was standing as straight as James had ever seen him, almost as if to show his son that he was perfectly capable of taking care of things without a seventeen-year-old boy. Harold embraced his son as soon as he decended the last step, nearly knocking the wind out of him. James had not been held so tightly since his mother's death, and the sudden display of strength surprised him. 

"Head Boy," his father said, patting him on the back. "Can honestly say I never expected that." James grinned as he pulled away, balancing his trunk for what he knew would be a long good-bye.

"Yeah, well, you should still expect the occasional displinary letter."

"Only the occasional? So you will be straightening up your act?"

They both chuckled a little, but the sound soon faded into silence. James steeled himself for what he knew came next.

"Your mother would be so proud of you, James. She was Head Girl, you know, back in her day. I remember being so intimidated by her; she caught me sneaking out more often than not, but she left Hogwarts before I reached my more devious years."

"Yeah?" James quipped, faking interest in a tale he'd heard more times than he'd asked Lily out. In fact, his father had told him all of this last night, but James wasn't about to point that out.

"I remember this one time-"

"Actually, Dad, I'm running kind of late," James pointed out. "I've really got to run. I'll write you when I get there, alright?"

His father looked visibly put out to be interrupted in what was once a sensational story, but nodded with somber eyes. "Have a good last year, James." His green eyes suddenly shone.

"Thanks, Dad." 

James left quickly. He knew his father wouldn't want to cry in front of his son.

 

King's Cross felt very different this year. The Dark had alwasys been rising, ever since the Marauders' first year, but the station pulsed with paranoia. The Muggles didn't know of Killing Curses, Death Eaters, or Voldemort, but they could feel that something was not quite right. James had to join a group of fifth years in order to pass through the barrier unnoticed; anyone traveling by himself was immeadiately suspicious.

The platform wasn't much different. Wizards in magenta robes were hurrying in and out of the train, sparks and flashes of light erupted from all parts of the train. Several people broke out into grins at the sight of James, expecting some sort of joke to lighten the mood. A few minutes later, the robes of one of the Ministry wizards were forcing their owner into ridiculous ballet poses. It only lasted a short while, otherwise James was sure he'd land in serious trouble, but it was enough of a show to relax some faces and bring some more familiar ones his way.

"Nice one, Prongs," Remus said in an undertone as the disgruntled Ministry wizard passed them. 

"Thank you, Moony. Suprised neither one of you has done anything yet. This crowd is practically dying for an excuse to laugh."

"Is that going to be your defense when McGonagoll hears about this?"

"I don't think Minnie will mind," Sirius said, pushing his trolley next to James'. "What's the time?"

"Six past," James responded, having just checked the hour himself.

Remus groaned. "They've been at this _forever._ "

_"_ It's got to be about done," Sirius said confidently.  "Five more minutes. How difficult can it be?"

Apprarently more difficult than five minutes. The train ended up boarding at 11:34. The Marauders pushed some gawky second-years out of their usual compartment, up in the very front, so they would get the best selection off the trolley. Peter, who'd found them at the last second, looked slightly put out from an exasperated rejection from Dorcas Meadowes, but his mood turned up when Remus pointed out that at least he hadn't been "repeatedly rejected by the same bird like _some people_ ". 

"Ha ha," James mocked. "Haven't heard that one for the past four years."

"Don't you hear something wrong with that sentence, mate?" Peter said, emboldened by his successful comparison to James. "Like the 'four years' part?"

Sirius roared with laughter, causing the last second year to jump with fright as she scurried from the compartment. James shot a dark look at the other Marauders, which was enough to silence Peter as he hoisted his trunk on the rack above.

"Don't you two have to go to the prefects' meeting?" he asked quickly, obviously changing the subject.

"Yeah," Remus conceded, ushering James out to the hallway. "And Prongs has to help lead it. This'll be a sight."

Peter and Sirius didn't laugh at this one, only shrugged in agreement as the other two walked down the train. James turned to wave good-bye, but the compartment door was already closed. He wasn't sure if this meant something or not.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Remus asked, a slight chuckle escaping his throat.

"Not the slightest," James admitted freely, pulling his Head Boy badge from his pocket.  In the short time he'd owned it, he'd managed to put a small dent on the bottom, clip a corner off, and smear a bit of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum across the "H". James stole a glance at Remus' prefect badge; it was spotless.

"Maybe they won't notice."  Remus had caught James looking. Before he could explain the dent, chip, or smear, his friend opened the compartment door on the immediate right, and the voices within went completely silent, eager to see who was at the door.

Twenty-three people had forced themselves into the space; the discomfort was obvious in all of their faces, especially since Lily, who seemed to have been about to begin, had a good two feet of space separating her from the crowd. Remus and James shoved their way into the compartment. A few people greeted Remus as warmly as possible given the close-quarters, but James saw more than a few questioning glares as eyes passed over him. What could he be doing there except to cause mischeif?

"Remus!" Lily called out. Her face brightened, though she looked considerably relieved, until she saw James.  Her smile wavered, the glint in her eye darkened, and her thoughts became so easily visible it was almost as if they were stamped into her forehead.

_What's he up to?_

"Potter, if you have another request for a date from my girlfriend, could you at least wait until after the meeting to humiliate yourself?" Amos shouted from the corner. 

A few people laughed, or at least smiled exasperately, but everyone fell quiet at Remus' words.

"I'd watch how you speak to the Head Boy, if I were you."  James knew the look that was painted all across his mate's face- it was the same look he had whenever he moved the last piece on the board forward and said, "Checkmate." Taking his cue, James pinned the disgraced badge upon his chest, smirking as several people dropped their jaws. 

"W-what?"

"No way-"

"It must be Lupin's."

"You've got to be joking-"

"Yeah, it's a bit of a shock." 

Every eye, which had previously been sharing a disbelieving glance with a friend, was suddenly fixed on James as soon as he'd spoken. Amos even stopped talking, his mouth slightly open, and James suddenly realized he was expected to say something else, that he was somehow supposed to justify his appointment.  

"I have the letter to prove it," he supplied, pulling the wadded parchment from his pocket. He chucked it at Amos, whom promptly dropped it in surprise. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, Dumbledore's off his rocker," James continued.  "I was just as surprised as you all to find out I was Head Boy, and I really think that any one of you would do a better job. I'm not a prefect, and it's not exactly a secret that I don't follow the rules, so for me to be made Head Boy is just... ridiculous. But, seeing as I _am_ Head Boy, I suppose it follows that none of you can really punish me anymore. Isn't that right?"

A few bristled with indignation, Lily included, but most of the prefects surrounded Amos as he unfolded the letter, each with the expression of superiority, as if they expected it to be written in crayon. Remus rolled his eyes, but James saw the subtle grin hidden under his exasperation. 

"He's really Head Boy," said Rachel Hawkins, a fifth-year Hufflepuff. "That's definitely Dumbledore's writing."

"Well, of course he's Head Boy," said Lily suddenly. She forced her way through the throng of prefects with minimal difficutly, halting right in front of James. "Who else would do that to their badge?"  She tapped the shield on his chest sharply with her wand; James looked down to see that it'd been repaired perfectly.

"Potter's right about one thing," declared Stephen Beckons. "He doesn't deserve the title. Is there any way we could replace him?"

"Yes. If James, Dumbledore, and I can agree, a new Head is appointed," Lily said quickly, as if reading from a manual. Her tone changed quickly, though, as she swung around to face James again. Though he was about a whole head taller than her, James felt as if they were eye to eye as soon as she spoke. "James, I realize that you see this as a chance to flout every single rule in the book and not get punished for it, but being Head Boy is not a joke. The fact is you don't deserve this.  I've _earned_  being Head Girl, and I'm not about to let you take the chance to be good at it away. Are we clear?"

James scoffed.  The feeble truce they'd set up the year before was obviously on shaky ground, and when he saw her put her hand on her hip and stare him down, he realized she was in no way speaking to him as a friend, but an enemy. At least this was familiar territory. "Lily, I realize that you see this as a chance to enforce every single rule in and out of the book and basically ruin any chance of anyone having a good time, but being a 'good' Head Girl doesn't require a 'good' Head Boy. The fact is I don't deserve this, but I intend to have some fun with it. I'm not about to let you take that away from me. Are we clear?"

"Unfortunately, being witty arsehole isn't in the job description," Lily spat.

"Did you just call me witty? I think you did."

"Potter!" she reprimanded sharply, and James suddenly felt this was much more like fifth year. The summer seemed have faded away that awkward friendship, but he couldn't stop to evaluate why. "I don't want to play games with you. Are you going to work to be a proper Head or not?"

As if there was an answer besides the obvious. He wasn't about to lie about his intentions. He was already going to be a disgrace to the title of Head Boy, he wasn't about to deceive them too. And he for sure wasn't about to give it up. Sirius had been right- this was a golden opportunity. There were massive amounts of points to be taken from Slytherin, detentions to be handed out to exclusively Snivellus, prefects deterred from strategic locations...

Lily's face fell at his hesitation, wiping his mind of thoughts of points and pranks, replacing them with memories of her worrying whether Cynthia McAdams would be appointed instead of her; how she had come to class with bags under her eyes, not from staying up partying like most, but from pulling extra patrols. James remembered her face when Sirius told her she didn't have to try so hard, that she was a shoe-in for Head Girl anyway. Sirius had meant it as an insult, but the badly-concealed glow on Lily's face had told a different story. James knew that Lily had been dreaming of becoming Head Girl since fifth year, maybe even before that. This was something Lily had wanted for years- to be Head Girl- and James suddenly realized that him being Head Boy destroyed any chance she had at becoming credible. 

He didn't know why this filled his chest with resignation, as their relationship was seemingly returning back to a mixed hostility, but his mind was suddenly, irrefutably, changed.  "I'm gonna talk to Dumbledore about it- step down, you know? This isn't for me." He couldn't believe he'd considered any other option.

 Remus furrowed his eyebrows, the question hanging silently from his lips. The compartment was filled with tilted heads and open mouths- most clearly didn't know how to react. Amos clapped him on the back, said, "Thanks, Potter," with such respect that James had to make sure it really was the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain. Lily nodded, clearly relieved, but her eyes remained cloudy with confusion as she stared him down. James was suddenly sure that his deepest secrets were written on his forehead or something, because her expression cleared and was replaced with a faint admiration.

James left the compartment before the actual meeting began, figuring he'd have no place in it soon enough. But as he closed the door, he wondered if all revelations were supposed to be this confusing.

 

Like most people, James was deeper than life gave him credit for. It wasn't that life hadn't given him plenty of scenarios to prove he had a serious side; last year had given him far too many. But people perhaps thought him more shallow than others, and, even James supposed, they had good reason to. How many times had he been serious in front of _any_ classmate, besides the Marauders? Even when it concerned D.E.W.B.s or Lily- people that had a direct line to his emotions- James had always made it a joke whenever it'd been public. He had a proclivity for popularity, but he knew that reaching the top of the social ladder wasn't the end of the game- you had to stay there. And it was so much easier to be well-liked by sticking to jokes and Quidditch rather than repeated rejections and ethics. Not to mention, James was a teenage boy; his reputation had been built largely at the age of thirteen, and what popular boy is having deep conversations about life and death at that age?

So, like most people, James was deeper than life gave him credit for.

But that didn't stop him from being unable to stop sneaking glances at Lily's tits while they sat in Dumbledore's office. Sirius had been right. They were definitely bigger. He'd put a few Galleons on B's, maybe C's if she was wearing the right bra. James wasn't a hundred percent sure on how tit-sizing really worked, but he figured knowing wasn't really necessary as long as he could reasonably guess. Remus always had a knack for it, though none of the Marauders knew why, seeing as even Peter had gone farther than him. But none of that was exactly relevant- James tried for focus on what the Headmaster was saying.

"... not my most light-hearted speech, I must confess. But with the world as it is.... A topic for later. You two wanted to speak to me about something, yes?"

"Yes, Professor," Lily said, her posture straighter, her tone light. James rolled his eyes, barely refraining from mimicking her. She only acted so proper in front of teachers, and it was almost a reflex to poke fun at it.  "James and I have come to the consensus that he's not entirely fit to be Head Boy. We'd like to formally request that you appoint a replacement, sir."

Dumbledore rose from his desk, a twinkle in his eyes. James got the sense that he'd known exactly what they'd requested to talk to him about before they'd even entered the office. "'Not entirely fit'?" he repeated, his voice low, and he suddenly grinned, as if remembering a private joke. "If the school governers themselves had approached me at this time last year and asked for Mr. Potter to be appointed Head Boy, I would have refused on the spot. Since you obviously consented to this meeting, Mr. Potter, I think it's appropiate to speak freely; you delibrately defy authority. You are a notorious troublemaker. You certainly do not work very effectively with Miss Evans, whom has always been the primary canidate for Head Girl,"-Lily blushed, but James saw the supressed smile light up her face-"so it was only natural for the staff and yourselves to question my appointment. But because of the events last year, I know you to be exactly the character Hogwarts needs. You may not be the best choice, but certainly you are the right one."

James blanched, worried that Dumbledore might speak _too_  freely with Lily present. He spoke as generally as possible. "Sir, I only did what any other person would do for a friend. Any other _decent_  person, anyway."

The Headmaster fixed James with a hard stare. "Were you really thinking of your friend, James?"

At first, he was affronted that Dumbledore would even ask that question. He opened his mouth in indignation, a few choice words in mind, regardless of Dumbledore's seniority, when he realized it wasn't meant as a question of his loyalty. At that moment when James had first heard that Snape was going down to the Whomping Willow, he hadn't been thinking about how it would've ruined Remus- that revelation had come to him in the hospital wing the day after. Despite the urgency of that night, James could recall his motivation very clearly. A life was a life, regardless of whose it was, and saving it had been the only thing that mattered. 

James shook his head resolutely. Lily looked between the two of them, trying to figure out what they were discussing without actually asking.  

"And later that year, you sacrificed yourself for the sake of Miss Warren and Miss Brookings-"

"What?" Lily asked, aghast. 

"Yeah, I thought everyone kn- Never mind. Professor, that doesn't make a good Head Boy. I only did-"

"James, if you would permit me a small interruption," Dumbledore said. "I realize that to someone so young, with parents such as yours, you believe that what you did was natural, was what anyone would've done. But it is exactly that naivity that makes you the right choice. You're a natural leader, and in a time such as this it's not necessarily a by-the-book Head Boy Hogwarts needs. I am asking you to step up."

He wanted to comment on how that had been far from a small interruption, but James sensed that the time for trivialities had passed a long time ago in this conversation. "Asking me, sir? Implying I have the option of saying no?"

"If you really do not want the position, Mr. Potter, I, of course, will allow you to step down, but-"

"Sir," Lily said suddenly, not sounding at all like she usually did when she spoke to professors. Her voice was more vibrant, less reserved. "I would like to withdraw my earlier objection. I'd prefer if James would remain Head Boy."

"What? Lily, no, think about this," James scrambled. "I'm not right for this. I'm not responsible enough for this. Just let someone else who wants it be Head Boy."

"Perhaps we will discuss the subject if any relevant events surface," Dumbledore suggested abruptly, closing the subject with a grin. "As it stands, Mr. Potter, you are an acting Head. I'm sure Miss Evans will show you the spellbook, so to speak. You may leave."

James stood up from his chair, thrown back at the recent turn of events. "Professor, I-"

"That was not an invitation to do so, James. Please, I have other matters to attend to." Dumbledore moved back to his desk, picking up a piece of parchment as if neither of the students were present. Lily pulled on his sleeve, nodding towards the door. With any other professor, James would've stayed and argued, but Dumbledore spoke with such a finality that he reluctantly followed Lily's lead and left the office.

"What was that?" James practically shouted as soon as the door closed behind them. Lily looked at him in alarm, not deigning to answer until they'd decended the stairs.

"What does Dumbledore mean by you 'sacrificed' yourself?"

"It doesn't matter now. Lily.  You just made me Head Boy! What were you thinking? I-"

"What does he mean by that, James? I knew that you'd gotten in some trouble with them, but 'sacrificed'? I'd say that's a pretty descriptive term, wouldn't you?"

"I just gave them some time to get the hospital wing- Lily, you realize that you're gonna be stuck with me, right? At least until I do something stupid. Which I'm going to do, by the way, since one, I've no idea how to be Head Boy, and two, I don't want to be it anyways."

"You just bought them some time? How?" Lily questioned, apparently unable to hear anything past the first sentence someone spoke. 

"I'll tell you if you tell me why you suddenly want me to be Head Boy," James said, fixing her with a steady stare. She rolled her eyes, as if he'd just demanded a Sugar Quill in exchange for the deed to Gringotts.

"Dumbledore has a point- you're a leader. And the school needs an admirable leader just as much as it needs someone to tell them to obey the rules. I expect you to not abuse your powers as Head Boy, but I'd be an idiot if I asked you to stop breaking the rules."

"Well, actually, you've done that a fair many times-"

"Oh, shut it," Lily interrupted, waving her hand aside. "Your turn."

"You're actually _asking_  for a story of my heroics?"

"Well, this one doesn't involve a broomstick, so-"

"You'd be surprised-"

" _Anyway_..."

"Right. I told them they could take me and I wouldn't report them for it later, as long as they let Madeline and Angela go. Bit stupid of them to take it really, but goes to show you how much they hate me." James shrugged. "The Ministry came in and performed Legilimency on Angela- she'd promised not to say anything- so they got suspended."

Lily inhaled deeply, looking at James with a sudden concern. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing permanent," James said bitterly, not really wanting to go into detail of how he'd been beaten, degraded, and tortured; how he'd only been saved because he was pureblooded. His fist clenched involuntarily. "Just make sure that you're always accompanied after hours, yeah? Promise?"

"Of course, I'm not an idiot," Lily confirmed, her tone contrasting greatly with the gentle hand on his arm. "James... have you talked about it?"

"Yeah, I've talked about it," James said automatically, but realized immediately after speaking that he hadn't really described anything in detail to the Marauders or his father. Not that either hadn't asked- just that he'd always generalized it. Lily seemed to read his expression easily, her eyes filled with pity. 

"James, why are you so eager to brag about Quidditch, but you really _did_  something here, you don't even try to impress me?" Lily finished the last bit as a slight joke, but he could tell it wasn't rhetorical.

"Not everybody can win a Quidditch game by rolling on a broom at the last second. Anybody can roll over in a fight."

"But would they?"

James ignored her. "How am I supposed to have fun and still be Head Boy?"

"The others before you didn't die of boredom," Lily objected.

"The others before me were actually qualified."

"So are you. Just in a different way."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Is this how it's going to be all year? Enemies one minute, friends the next?"

"Maybe. You've got a problem with that, Potter?" Was her voice... flirting? No, she had a boyfriend, she was still with that arsehole Diggory, but the familiar half-smile still spread across his face, the same one he always used when asking her out.

James was about to respond in what he was sure was going to be a very charming and witty reply (he hadn't actually thought it up yet), when Amos and Dorcas rounded the corner.

"Lily!" Dorcas exclaimed. "There you are. How'd the meeting go?"

"Still Head Boy, Potter?" Amos asked, nodding at the badge still pinned to his chest. "For how long?"

"Dumbledore refused. He insisted James be Head Boy," Lily said too quickly, causing Dorcas to raise an eyebrow. She'd always been a bad liar; James saw her bite her lip, heard her voice hitch in the middle of her sentence, but he felt the desperation in her eyes as she begged him nonverbally to agree.

"Off his rocker, but what can you do?" James said, playing along. He had recognized in an instant that Lily wasn't being truthful, but Amos clearly didn't see anything amiss. James was suddenly furious that Amos was so quick to accept Lily's answer- did he even  _know_  her? James had probably never been in her presence for longer than a class period, but he knew very well that Lily couldn't lie worth her life.

"Are you alright, James?" Dorcas asked, noticing his continued glare at Amos.

"Couldn't be better. Just in shock, really. This is what it must feel like to get something you don't deserve," James spat challengingly.

"Should be a familiar feeling," Amos replied. "Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup last year, didn't they?"

"Gryffindor also beat you, 300-60," Dorcas put in, her hands resting on her hips.

"Shoddy Keeping on your part," James supplied. "Can't think why you'd use Quidditch as something I don't deserve, seeing as you're Captain. Or does Hufflepuff always exult their worst player?"

Amos' face was bright red, but whether from anger or embarrassment, James didn't know. "You're right, Potter," he said with obvious effort. "You deserved the Cup. What do you say we put this animosity behind us? Fresh start, at least until Quidditch season." He held out his hand between them, an appropiately wide smile on his face.

James took his hand, noticing the near-crippling grip on his fingers."It would be a bit awkward, otherwise. With me as your superior and all."

"James!" Lily reprimanded, her tone slackening both boys' grip. "Amos was only trying to-"

"Are you joking me?" James asked, jaw dropping. Did she just not know her boyfriend any better than he knew her, or was she really that horrific at reading people? He shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Forget it. I'll see you around." He walked away much faster than necessary, but if he heard one more word from that worthess pretty-boy, he'd-

"James! Wait!"

He stopped at the corner, turning his head to watch Dorcas catch up.  She was walking briskly towards him (he supposed her heels made running impossible), her expression annoyed as Amos and Lily embraced behind her. James found himself facing forward, unable to look behind him again. He heard Amos whisper, and his teeth locked as he pictured his mouth by Lily's ear.

"I'm sorry," Dorcas said, suddenly beside him.  She started walking forward, and James followed. 

"Sorry?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah. Amos is such an _idiot._ Don't get me wrong, he's damn good-looking, and smart, and responsible, and all that, but... He's incredibley annoying. And Lily around him.... ergh! She's just not herself at all. It's like she's in eternal prefect-mode around him. But, whatever, he was her boyfriend-"

"'Was'?"

"Well, they broke it off over the summer, but Amos is obviously trying to get back together," Dorcas informed, passing a portriat that would cut their time to the Gryffindor tower in half.

"But Diggory called her his girlfriend on the train," James said.

"Did he really? I bet I hear about that one tonight."

The pair of them mounted the stairs in silence. James didn't have to ask why she'd wanted to walk with him; Dumbledore had insisted that no one ought to travel the halls alone at the Welcoming Feast. Professor Slughorn himself had escorted the Slytherins to their Common Room- walking right behind Avery the entire time. James found himself double-checking eveyr corner they passed, and he saw Dorcas do the same. It felt strange to be on edge in Hogwarts.

"Sphinx." They'd reached the Fat Lady. She nodded after Dorcas spoke, swinging open to reveal the dim room behind. The fire was barely burning in the grate. Judging by the candy wrappers that littered the floor, a few people had tried to refrain from sleep, but it was near impossible on the first night back.

They were about to part ways up their respective staircases when James grabbed her shoulder. She spun around quickly, and he was engulfed by some sort of delicate perfume.

"Did you ever... tell Lily? About what happened?"

"No," Dorcas said guiltily. "No, I didn't. I should've, but I told you that I wouldn't, and... Well, there's no reason to add porquipine quills to an already explosive potion." She smiled slightly. "For the record, I've always been rooting for you. Lily's just..."

"Lily?" James supplied.

"Exactly. Which can be _such_  a bother."

"Yeah, I guess. But she's worth it." James winced internally, not believing that actually came out of his mouth. He instantly mussed up his hair as Dorcas laughed, but he had a strange certainty that it wasn't at him.

"Fuck," she cursed, but she was still smiling broadly, staring right at him. Her eyes shone, but she hadn't been laughing hard enough for it to be tears of mirth. "Why can't every girl have a James?" 

 

 

 

  **a/n: This chapter has been betaed! Notice the dramatic decrease in grammatical errors? :D Read and review!...... Please.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Even Gambling Has Limits

It all starts with one hand.

Not many people possess the endurance to keep playing a game while on a firm losing streak.  Too many people have the sense not to. Whichever way you look at it, an unlucky table is often left empty.

James did not like to leave tables. He usually didn't have to; he was undeniably lucky. He insisted that he did not have losing streaks- that his winning streak was just a little late in coming. Which was true; if you played any game long enough, you were bound to win.

Remus was a little different. He mostly gambled with his mind. He could count cards (he'd once taught James and Sirius how to, but they'd always neglected strategy for risk), was able to read the average person with astonishing accuracy, and didn't have the money to bet big anyway. Remus recognized when he hit a losing streak, and Galleons had more meaning to him than the other Marauders. They called him chicken, but really he just had more sense than the other three.

But whether it is a James, a Remus, or someone in between, it really only takes one hand. A substantial win was enough to make James go all in; it was enough to keep Remus smiling and in the game. No matter the outcome after that, the same argument goes through everyone's head. _This marks a change in the tide! If I win one, I'll win another._

__And in this way, in card games or real life, we start dragging more chips onto the table. We begin to take a risk, one our rational self would never take. The success seeps through our consciousness and makes us believe that that one hand is a symbol of future victories. But it's not. It's a ruse to persuade us to put one more chip on the table. And for some reason, when we lose, and the dealer pulls back our bet to his side, it's that one chip that haunts us, though it is among so many. It was that one risk we took. It's the one we lost.

 

"I know Amos was being an arsehole."

It was probably the last sentence James had expected Lily to say during the hour and half of rounds. Actually, he hadn't expected her to say anything. It was the first Wednesday of the year, and the few days of class before hadn't resulted in a single word being exchanged between the two Heads. In all honesty, James had been completely lost. While Remus had tried to explain his responsibilities to him, James had no idea what exactly he was supposed to do.  It sounded like an empty title to him.  He'd taken thirty-seven points from Slytherin so far, twenty of those from Snivellus for being a git, but this was apparently not enough to coax a reaction from the Head Girl. That or she hadn't heard about it. The Marauders had agreed it was in all likelihood the latter, but Sirius kept goading James to take more points away. He usually gave in, though with a slight twinge of guilt in his gut.

Lily had put him in a very difficult position by insisting he be Head Boy. He'd declared openly that he wasn't going to become the cookie-cutter good boy, and James couldn't even entertain the idea of becoming a model student overnight without raising an eyebrow. On the other hand, he had been willing to give up the chance to abuse his position so Lily would have an opportunity to be a respectable Head. He couldn't just turn around and ruin exactly that now without being a hypocrite. So far, James had settled for bullying a few points from any Slytherins that antagonized him, but otherwise he completely ignored the silver badge on his robe and the responsibilities that came with it.

In fact, the only thing he had done was show up for rounds, which he wouldn't have, had Remus not pointed to the patrol schedule posted on the notice board in the Common Room half an hour ago. He'd met Lily five minutes past eleven in front of the Fat Lady, but she had held onto her silence instead of remarking on his lateness. For the past twenty-five minutes, the pair of them had randomly opened and closed various doors on the seventh floor in silence. Twice James had come across a snogging couple, but had opted for ignoring them instead of punishment. Lily, in contrast, had sent three people back to bed, one with a detention, another with the knowledge that his midnight escapade had cost his house ten precious points. James had suddenly been overwhelmed with gratitude that the Marauders had finished the Map last year.

"What?" he asked stupidly, his hand still on a large brass doorknob. His brain was having difficulty processing that she had said anything at all, let alone against Diggory.

"Not that you weren't being a prick," she continued, as if he hadn't said anything. "Just that Amos was as well."

"Right," James said, as if he was following the conversation. "I'm glad you told me that."

Lily blinked. "I just thought you should know. It's not that I favor him _over_  you, it's just that..."

"Actually, that's _exactly_ what you do." It was as if someone else with his voice and his mouth and his tongue had said it, someone who clearly had no idea about the consequences of words.  It sounded bitter and jaded, tainting the air around them with a stiffness that caused James to tense as if for a duel, and Lily's posture to straighten.

"I didn't mean it like that," Lily said, her voice caught between apology and admonishment. "I meant in terms of the argument."

"If you say so," James replied, but, despite the expression, his tone was anything but indifferent. Lily would've had to be deaf not to pick up on it. The two of them stopped in the middle of the hallway, mentally circling each other for the inevitable argument. 

"Is there a reason that you think I'm your property?" she asked suddenly, although it was a lot more like an accusation than a question. James didn't think she expected an answer, but he felt compelled to respond; he opened his mouth in protest, but she continued as if she didn't notice. "Because you seem to think that just because you asked me out a million times means you have some sort of claim to me. And this is just past the summer. We haven't even _seen_  each other since June, and you just take it for granted that you're going to 'fancy' me again. How do you know, James? I could be somebody totally different, and you just act like..." She did not finish her sentence, gesturing madly with one of her hands instead. "You have no right."

James' eyes lit up, his words flowing out of his mouth without any thought, only the sudden indignation that was strangling all reason. "I have no right? I have no right to fancy you, to care? I-"

"That's not what I meant at all!"

"Maybe you should start stating explicitly what you mean then! 'Cause from where I stand, you're telling me that I'm in the wrong because I have feelings for you and I'm acting on them!"

"Except, one, you actually _don't_ -"

"Are you honestly telling me what I do and don't feel?"

"We've been over this, James, and I don't want to do it again."

"No, we've never really discussed this," he countered, shaking his head decisively. "We've touched on it, but I still have no idea why you don't believe it. Yeah, okay, I was lying when I told you I'd marry you in fourth year, and I was taking the mickey out of you when I declared my undying love, but I'm just saying I want to get to know you and take you on a date. What is so unbelievable about that?"

She took a step backward, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms.  "The fact that it's you," she said with conviction.  Her gaze never wavered. "You go through girls almost as fast as Black. I've never seen you more interested in a girl than with a broomstick. And I'm not your type."

"My type?" James said skeptically, stepping forward and spreading his arms as if to present a target. "I have a type?"

"Of course you have a type," she spat. "The kind of girl that spreads her legs after the first date, the kind of girl that laughs when you torture students, the kind of girl that thinks you're a god-"

"So only the observant ones?" James interrupted with a smirk.

Lily's jaw dropped; she practically ran at him, her rage propelling her until she was almost face to face with him. "You're ridiculous! We're having a row, and you _still_  have to insert some pompous, moronic self-serving jibe in there! And you wonder why I say no!"

"Merlin, learn how to take a joke."

"Have you ever considered that maybe your brand of humor doesn't apply to everyone, James? That's the other thing! We have nothing in common, yet you still insist at the beginning of every year that you fancy me. I'm just supposed to believe that you're inexplicably drawn to me, at the start of the year, when you have no idea how I've changed, what kind of person I am after the entire summer, so I can only assume that you're just in it for a challenge or because you're physically attracted to me, so in either case you'll lose all interest as soon as the date's over, and-"

"Or maybe," James said relatively quiet, considering their voices had previously been reverberating throughout the entire seventh floor, "I know that you're not the kind of person that changes very easily, and I want to know more about those things that _did_  change you. Maybe I'm just cursed, Lily, I don't know. I just can know, I can feel-"

"Oh, just _shut up!"_  Lily yelled, the sound stinging his ears. "I don't buy this bullshit, no matter how nice it sounds. I'm not that kind of girl, Potter, and that's something you should know by now." She turned, stalking down the corridor. "You can go back up to the Common Room. I'll finish rounds."

"Oh, no," James objected, lurching forward and grabbing her wrist. "I'm not going to let you walk around the castle alone at night."

Lily scoffed, wrenching her hand from his grasp. "I can take care of myself."

"Well then, consider this a renewed commitment to my Headship," James replied firmly.  Lily whipped around, continuing down the corridor, but she did so in silence.  James followed her, knowing that she really didn't have any other option but to let him.

The castle, without the pair screaming at each other, was completely devoid of any sound except their footsteps. The sound of them opening and closing random doors was almost a relief. The air was crisp and cold, but James still felt the warmth from the row. He was sorely tempted to reach in his pocket for one of the three joints he'd bought from Mundungus Fletcher earlier, partly out of the need to unwind but mostly just for something to do. 

He stuck his hand in his pocket, rolling a joint between his fingers. "I don't want the year to be like this."

Lily stared straight ahead, but it wasn't as if there were any other sounds to interfere with his words.  She checked a classroom and slammed the door shut, barely looking inside at all.

"For whatever reason, you made me Head Boy. And if you want some help or you'd just generally like to avoid being pissed at me all the time, we should learn how to deal with each other. What about last year, eh? We got along alright then. _"_

She didn't respond.

He almost started smoking right there, in front of Professor Vector's office, just to get a reaction from her.  But something held him back- a solution he knew was just out of his mind's reach, if only he could remember it.

James smirked abruptly, pulling his hand out of his pocket. "Lily... what's your favorite color?"

He saw her smile, even if was only for a second.  She turned to face him, the stubbornness still present in her face, but her eyes were almost laughing.

"C'mon, you don't wanna give me a point, do you?" James coaxed.

Lily sighed, leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment. "It's brown."

He raised an eyebrow. "Obviously?"

 

There were a total of twenty-three people on the Quidditch pitch at seven o' clock: six prospective Seekers, nine Chasers, three Keepers, four Beaters, and James.  There was far more than that in the stands; they were the friends of those on the pitch, either there out of an obligatory sense of support or an eagerness to see how the team would size up this year. This was James Potter's last year after all, and everyone could practically see the determination radiate off of him as he stood in the center of the field, a brown chest at his feet and a broomstick draped around his shoulders. 

"You should see him on game day," Troy Quiver whispered to the girl to his right.  Former members of the team nodded, a few others swallowed as if to steel themselves for what was to come.

James suddenly stopped in the exact center of the pitch. "This is not 'just a game'."  His voice carried the same weight as a commander to his army. Even Troy straightened slightly. "If you make the team, this is your first priority. I don't just train you to be better fliers- I train you to be better athletes. Quidditch is not just about flying and goals and Snitches. It's about heart and skill, and damn if Gryffindor doesn't have more of that than all the houses put together. 

"I've been Captain since my fifth year. That year, we had a perfect season, but since Hufflepuff was completely slaughtered by Ravenclaw that year, a whopping 490-30, we lost the Cup. Last year, we won the Cup, but we lost our first match to Slytherin. This year, we're going to get the best of both worlds. Are we clear?" It wasn't a question, but the players in front of him nodded all the same.  "Good. Seekers first."

The six Seekers flew up into the air, James right behind them with the Snitch in hand.  He didn't need to see their faces to know how anxious they'd look; he had a bit of reputation as being ruthless at try-outs, and Seekers were always the most vulnerable as they were usually the youngest. Angela Warren caught his eye once, and even she looked worried. He restrained himself from smiling reassuringly; he couldn't display any preference.

James tried to keep that in mind during the try-outs, but it had been near impossible when Angela practically burst into tears when Ben Hatter caught the Snitch before her. Luckily, this seemed to motivate her even more, making her catch the Snitch three times in a row, the last one complete with a fantastic dive.  It was fairly obvious when the Seekers descended that Angela would be returning to the team, and James mentally thanked Merlin for the easy decision.  He didn't think he could've told a sobbing Angela that she didn't make the team.

The Beaters were more of a challenge. Emmeline secured her spot fairly quickly, literally knocking James' shoe off with a Bludger, but Blake was on shaky ground. A fifth year named Anthony Rogers hit a Bludger hard enough to make the solid iron goal post shake, though James had a creeping suspicion that he'd been aiming for it to go through the circle instead of just under it. Still, it was an impressive display of strength, and James knew he could correct that aim.  Blake was noticeably disheartened by Rogers' performance, but it was a lot easier to think of cutting him from the team than Angela.

He watched the Chasers and Keepers simultaneously. When Nick Gallagher missed three easy saves in a row, James openly shouted at him to get back in the stands.  The Keepers performed considerably better after that, each of them afraid to be called out in front of everyone.  Gideon Prewett, who'd been on the Reserve team for the past two years, seemed to be James' best option, and having a fellow teammate in the dorm with him could be a lot of fun. 

It was the Chasers that he really concentrated on. He couldn't just go off skill- they had to work together. Last year, he'd been forced to choose Troy simply out of lack of talent elsewhere, but he certainly had competition this time. Frank Longbottom had some potential as far as throwing went, but James ruled him out quickly when he saw him almost slip off his broom three times. 

Claire Davens surprised him by tackling the Quaffle right out of Troy's hands.  He probably had three stones on her, but she soared across the pitch and shot the Quaffle straight through the center hoop. Davens mocked bowing to the crowd as she circled around the pitch, and despite himself, James cheered loudly, pumping his fist into the air.  The next play, however, Troy easily tackled her so effectively it was as if she hadn't held it at all. She would clearly have a disadvantage; James was forcibly reminded of himself as a second year, being told he'd have to play Seeker in order to play, that he was "too small" to be a Chaser...

He had a few tricks he could teach her.

"GO FRANK, GO!"

James turned to face the stands. Alice Logan was leaning over the edge of the stands, putting anyone else's enthusiasm to shame. Her shrill scream could be heard throughout the entire field, causing the Head Girl sitting next to her to sharply cover her ears.

Lily saw him looking.  She smiled and waved; James returned the grin, but didn't get a chance to wave. The game had carried over to the corner of the pitch where James had been hovering, and he had to roll quickly to the left in order to avoid being knocked off his broom by Frank.

"Watch it!" Troy shouted, his robes brushing past James' face. Thomas Bishop dropped the Quaffle; James dived and caught it almost on reflex, arching back into the air so his broom was perpendicular to the ground.  He turned his head, seeing Lily roll her eyes, but the smile stayed put.  

"Back on the ground," James ordered.  All the players descended, and the Seekers and Beaters who'd been waiting in the stands scurried down to the grass. James placed the Quaffle back in the chest, not making an effort to close it very thoroughly.  Hooch would have to check that it hadn't been tampered with anyway.

"Don't keep us waiting, James!" Alice demanded, wrapping her arm around Frank's.

"I'll post it by the end of the night," he announced, swinging his broomstick back over his shoulders. "I have to think about it."

James saw the players steel themselves; no doubt they were thinking of the long hours of mentally replaying their performance. The anxiety was visible on all their faces, especially Angela's. She swung her hair out from behind her ears so it shrouded her face, as though determined not to let anyone see how red her eyes were. 

Troy, at least, seemed confident.  He started walking off the pitch, the rest content to follow him, when James called out, "Angela, do you mind carrying my broom? I'll get the box." He nudged the chest of Quidditch balls at his feet.

 Angela nodded grudgingly, taking his Nimbus from him as everyone else left. James picked up the box, feeling the Bludgers bustling within.  He deliberately began walking at a leisurely pace with Angela trailing beside him.  When there was a good twenty feet between the pair and Frank and Alice, whom were giggling at the back of the group, James whispered, "You know you're Seeker, right?"

She turned to him so fast that he was surprised her neck didn't snap. "What? Really? But I missed that first one, I _saw_ it, James, I really did, he just got there first, and I'm so sorry, but really? Honest?" She eagerly tucked her hair behind her ear.

James surppressed a chuckle. "Yeah, Ange, honestly. You were the obvious pick. It's not Seekers I have to think about."

"Blake?"

It was his turn to look at her in shock. "You're more observant than you let on."

"He didn't do a very good job today," she said.  "But he was on the team last year, and-"

"I know, Angela. And he did decent, but I don't know if he made the cut yet or not.... You cannot tell anybody about this conversation, okay?"

"Alright, alright." They glanced at each other, and James could tell she was thinking about the last time she'd agreed to be silent at his request. He saw the guilt etched in her face before she turned to the ground, hair obscuring her expression.

James nudged her shoulder. "Hey. That wasn't your fault."

He could tell she was about to play dumb, but she changed tactics at his knowing stare. "I broke so easily."

"C'mon, don't be daft. They performed Legilmency on you. You couldn't have done anything about it. And it all worked out for the best, they got suspended, the school was better off without 'em."

"Yeah, but... I promised."

"Maybe there are more important things than promises," James said as they reached the broom shed. He kicked open the door and swung the chest on to its designated shelf.  James didn't make a practice out of keeping his Nimbus in the shed, preferring to store it safe in his room, but he knew Angela did. He reached out his hand for her broomstick, but she merely stood in the entryway of the dark shack, the remaining evening light centering on her. 

"You didn't think so," she whispered. "You didn't tell."

"They didn't break into my mind, Angela," James said impatiently, snatching her broom from her. "You can't blame yourself for something like this. You couldn't help it. And I... I was just being thick-headed. People are more important than my word."

"Are they?"

He placed her broomstick gently in its place, stepping aside so she could secure it.  She waited for a few moments for him to respond, but when he remained silent, she stepped into the broom shed, pulling her wand from her pocket. James wanted to dismiss her words as simple thoughts of a fourteen-year-old girl, but he couldn't.  Her question fed so well into his own rational; the reliability of his word, his honor, separated him from them. It was what was right, but it was only that way on one side of the coin. The other side had the safety of students inscribed upon it, and he couldn't just pretend that it didn't exist. The sessions with Drake, though now long over, were still making him question his actions.  Perhaps that had been the point all along.

Angela tapped her broom with her wand, muttering some incantation or another, before turning back to him. "I won't tell anyone that I'm Seeker," she said, not looking him in the eye, but James knew this wasn't a sign of dishonesty, only of nervousness. He nodded, taking his Nimbus from her.  

"I'll see you sometime this week.  I'll post practice times with the roster."  

She left quickly, closing the door behind her. James did not know why he hadn't left with her, why his words had carried an air of dismissal, but the darkness enveloped the bright scarlet of his Quidditch robes.  He held his broom tightly, suddenly very conscious of the lack of space surrounding him.  James wasn't exactly claustrophobic, but it made him distinctly uncomfortable.  He left the broom shed a few seconds after Angela, the wind outside a relief in more ways than one.  

The Marauders were waiting for him at the edge of the pitch.  Remus had just finished smoking a cigarette; he flicked the rest of it on the ground, nodding as James approached them. Sirius was smirking in such a familiar way that James grinned almost automatically.  

"What?" he asked expectantly, placing his broomstick lightly upon the ground.

"You took your time," Peter explained, staring pointedly at Angela's retreating form.  

It took James a second longer than it should've to understand. "Angela? No way. She's fourteen."

"So?" asked Sirius. "I took Bridgette Walkers out last year."

"Well, maybe I'm not a fucking slag like you," James countered, dodging Sirius' tackle at the last second. "Hey, I'm fine with you being a nonce, but I don't think Moony'd appreciate you ditching him for some girl-"

Remus joined in the chase at this point; he and Sirius sprinted after a laughing James, wearing half-smiles themselves, across the grounds with Peter trailing behind.  Sirius snatched the back of James' robe, forcing him to shrug it off to keep running. Heavy thoughts left behind him, he purposefully remained just outside their grip.  Sirius would definitely pin him if he could just reach him, and Remus wouldn't be easy to beat either. But James could run faster. One of them practically growled behind him when their fingers grazed his back, and James was just about to turn around and laugh in their faces when they reached the Black Lake.  He turned sharply, losing his advantage, and someone's hand closed on his shirt.

The world was briefly white as the fabric was pulled over his head.  James lost his balance, falling into the Lake. Water soaked through his trousers, the fabric clinging to his legs as he jumped up, about to make another run for it-

" _Accio!_ "

The absence of a familiar weight on his nose was noticeable for only a second before the world blurred and something plowed back into him, forcing him back in the water.  He rolled over, untangling himself from what he was sure was Remus by the mass of blonde hair, and was almost out of the water before Sirius pulled him back down.

"Not fair!" James cried, spitting out a mouthful of water.  The two boys wrestled for a moment, but when Remus came to Sirius' aid, James knew he really didn't have a chance.  Sirius pulled his arm behind his back, making James cry out in pain.  The water was achingly cold now that he wasn't moving.

"Not fair? I just exploited a noticeable weakness in my enemy. Nothing wrong with that, so long as I win," Sirius mocked, dropping his friend's arm and rising from the water.

"No, you don't!" James grabbed Sirius' leg, causing him to trip and land in the shallows.  After a few minutes of resumed fighting, Remus grew bored and sat at the water's edge with Peter, lighting another cigarette.  The two dark-haired Marauders carried on for much longer than they should've, neither willing to admit defeat, only stopping after spying Hagrid walking to the castle for dinner.

"I'm starving," Remus said loudly. "Can you two stop groping each other long enough to eat?"

"Don't push it, Moony," Sirius advised sternly, but he and James walked onto the shore all the same.  They were soaked and covered in mud; James held out his hand wordlessly for his glasses.  After a few seconds passed, he sighed, staring at the blur that was Peter expectantly.

"Honestly? C'mon, give me my specs back."

The cold frames were thrust into his palm.  James shoved them unceremoniously on his face before stealing Sirius' wand from him- he hadn't carried his own because of Quidditch practice, and Sirius', while not his own, could easily be used for minor spells.  

"How'd you know it was me?" Peter asked, shocked.

"I didn't," James replied, cleaning and drying his trousers with a wave of his wand.  He handed it back to Sirius.  "But you caved."

The Marauders walked towards the castle, the last of summer sun shining on their backs.  James picked up his clothing along the way, shoving it on his body with the franticness only cold could cause.  They were seemingly the only people on the grounds; everyone else was at dinner or sleeping through it in preparation for a long load of homework.  James stopped and looked over his shoulder, realizing he was forgetting something.

"My broom!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Damn it! I'll meet you lot in there, yeah?" The Marauders nodded as James sprinted in the opposite direction; Peter called that he'd save him a seat.  James hardly heard him; his mind was so centered on his Nimbus 1700.  Cursing Sirius for making him drop it, he  scanned the grounds for the mahogany strip of wood by the edge of the Quidditch pitch.

His heart sank as he neared the spot where he dropped it.  The grass was conspiciously absent of any broomstick.  James spun wildly around, searching for it anywhere nearby (perhaps Peter had kicked it when he'd been running behind them?), but it wasn't anywhere on the ground.  Nor was it in the broom shed, by the Lake, inside the Quidditch pitch, or on the grounds at all.  The sun was setting quickly, stealing the light that James so desperately needed to keep searching.  But even as he ran into the castle to retrieve the Marauders, he knew it was useless.  If he hadn't found it in daylight, _Lumos_  could only do so much; he'd delibrately put an Anti-Summoning Charm on it to prevent other teams from sabotaging it. His broom could be anywhere, and the thought that his top-of-the-line Nimbus could be in the hands of the Slytherin Quidditch Captain made his fists curl.

He'd been foolish to leave his broom unattended.  James usually never parted with it on principle, unless it was locked away in his dormitory. And now his hand felt so empty, his consciousness naked without the knowledge of where it was.  The feeble advice of the Marauders given by wandlight as they scoured the grounds only irratated him more- _yes_ , he'd already checked the broom shed; _yes,_ he was sure there was an Anti-Summonging Charm on it; _no_ , he hadn't seen anybody else except Hagrid outside.  Sirius resolved to wait with James outside the groundskeeper's cabin until he returned from dinner, but James was so furious at himself that the gesture was meaningless. 

Remus and Peter retreated back to castle, promising to ask Hagrid if they passed him.  Sirius and James sat on the steps in front of the cabin's front door, the latter unable to stop fidgeting.  It was completely dark by then; Sirius lit something, a cigarette or a joint, James couldn't be sure, but he didn't much care.  A flicker of light was visible across the grounds for a split second, as presumabley Remus and Peter opened the Entrance Hall doors.  He briefly saw the scarlet from his Quidditch robes, but it was shrouded in black the next moment.

"It's only a broom, mate. It's not like you can't buy another one," Sirius supplied.

"I know," James spat childishly, "but this is _my_  broom."

He could barely make out the outline of Sirius' face, but James still could sense him rolling his eyes.  Sirius was a fan of Quidditch, more than Remus or Peter anyways, but he didn't quite reach the level of devotion that James had. He could easily tell between a Silver Arrow and a Nimbus, like most any wizard, but he didn't understand the subtle differences of... well, almost a _personality_ like James did.  

Hagrid approached his cabin about an hour later, reporting that he hadn't seen anybody on the grounds at all besides the Marauders.  James and Sirius grudgingly thanked him and refused his offer for a cup of tea and some rock cakes, despite how loudly their stomachs protested.  James was too furious to think about food at the moment.

Someone had clearly stolen James Potter's broom.  This, in itself, was not surprising.  What was downright astonishing was that the culprit was going to get away with it. But it played very nicely into a well-established truth that James was just learning: the world senses when everything is going too well, it knows when everything falls into place.  And it always responds with a shap slap to the face, a kick to the crotch, or a stab through the heart.  It's as if the world was saying not to get back up, not to bother with dreams and smiles and love.  Even if it was only a stolen broomstick, it was not so much about what happened as when.

It was a reality that James was understanding very late in life.  It was a lesson that would never be fully learned.

 

 

**A/N: I'm sure you all hate me right now. I would. I'm sooooo sorry. I actually had the first part of this chapter written for a very long time, it's just the last half that took my so long.**

**ANYWAY. To make up for such an awfully long waiting period this time, I will give you a deadline.  By the 5th of December. I know that seems like a really long time, but please try to understand that not only do I have a mountain of homework to do, but finals are coming up.  The chapter will have to be betaed as well, and, regardless of some assertions, I DO actually have a social life.**

**With that being said, I'm SO impressed with all my readers who have remained/struggled with me.  As always, reviews are appreciated!!!!**

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. A Change in Luck

 L.E.

_He traces the letters over and over again with the detail he'd normally give to doodles of Snitches or Quaffles or Snivellus falling in the Black Lake.  He briefly wonders why he's doing this before Flitwick yells across the Hall._

_"Quills down, please! That means you too, Stebbins!"  James doesn't bother dropping his own quill; his exam is on the corner on his desk, far from the spare parchment he's scribbling on.  "Please remain seated while I collect your parchment!" Flitwick continues. "_ Accio!"

_James' exam along with a hundred others hurl into the air with such force that they knock the Charms Professor over.  Peter laughs nervously behind him as Walter Abbott and two others helped Flitwick to his feet._

_"Thank you.... thank you," he breaths.  "Very well, everybody, you're free to go!"_

_James quickly crosses out Evans' initials, hoping that no one around him had seen.  Godric, what would he look like? Some lovesick bloke that was so pathetic he traced her name? It wasn't like he actually_ cared _after all..._

_He puts the paper and quill in his bag as he stands up, checking over his shoulder for Sirius.  He isn't sure when it happened, but James is suddenly very aware of how he expects the Marauders to come to him and not the other way around.  He has always been aware of his status as a leader, but the thought of being the center of the Marauders is slightly unsettling._

_Sure enough, Remus, Sirius, and Peter all surround him within the minute, putting away their own question sheets and quills.   Mary McDonald and a few other girls walk ahead of them, but they are careful to give the boys their space as they exchange their worries over answers.  James shares a look with Sirius; Mary was staring at Sirius during the entire exam, and, judging by the wink he gives her in passing, he is well-aware of that fact._

_"Did you like question ten, Moony?" Sirius asks jokingly._

_"Loved it," answers Remus.  "'Give five signs that identify the werewolf.' Excellent question."_

_James wonders briefly if they ought to be joking about this sort of thing in public, but he can't help himself. "D'you think you managed to get all the signs?"_

_"Think I did.  One: He's sitting in my chair.  Two: He's wearing my clothes.  Three: His name's Remus Lupin..."_

_Three of them roar with laughter, enough to make the girls in front of them turn, but Peter's slightly squeakier laugh is conspicuously absent._

_"I got the snout shape," he states so worriedly that James is surprised he isn't wringing his hands, "the pupils of the eyes, and the tufted tail, but I couldn't think what else-"_

_"How thick are you, Wormtail?" James mocks, rolling his eyes. The Marauders walk out of the Entrance Hall doors, the sunshine being a relief after crouching over exams for the past two hours.  "You run round with a werewolf once a month-"_

_"Keep your voice down," Remus demands. James quickly checks to make sure that the girls didn't hear anything, but Lily Evans has joined their group and they are distracted, all of them trying to reassure her that she most certainly did not fail.  James is transfixed by the sight of Evans almost in tears; his hand itches to touch her._

_Sirius' voice is loud enough to break his haze.  "Well, I thought the paper was a piece of cake.  I'll be surprised if I don't get an Outstanding on it at least."_

_"Me too," James says truthfully.  He pulls the Snitch he stole from Hooch's office yesterday from his pocket, hoping Evans might turn and notice._

_"Where'd you get that?" Sirius asks, almost as if on cue._

_"Nicked it," he answers, but Evans is too busy ranting to be impressed by his words.  James starts playing a familiar game, letting the Snitch fly away until the last second, but only Peter is watching.  The group of girls drift off towards the Lake, and James can't resist following them._

_The Marauders collapse near the beech tree by the Lake, the now giggling girls not too far away.  James lets the Snitch go almost beyond reach, but catches it at the last second.  Peter claps his hands, making James grin.  He ruffles his hair, checking to see if the girls were looking, but to no success.  Dorcas is apparently telling them all a very entertaining story about McGonagall (James can tell because she has drawn her hair up in a very tight bun and is looking at Marlene as if she has a Bowstruckle up her arse). He isn't focusing but catches the Snitch on reflex.  Peter yells in awe._

_"Put that away, will you? Before Wormtail wets himself from excitement," Sirius requests._

_James shoves the Snitch back in his pocket nonchalantly.  "If it bothers you," he shrugs._

_"I'm bored. Wish it was a full moon." Sirius is surveying the grounds, his eyes lingering on Dorcas Meadowes' half-unbuttoned blouse._

_Remus is reading their Transfiguration textbook, something that James just now notices.  "You might," he says, and James wonders what has his knickers in a twist.  It isn't as if he doesn't joke about being a werewolf as much as the rest of them do.  "We've still got Transfiguration, if you're bored you could test me... Here," he offers, holding out the book._

_Sirius snorts, waving his hand.  "I don't need to look at that rubbish, I know it all." James is inclined to agree.  He is about to suggest that Peter quiz him when he sees a figure in the bushes to the left of them._

_"This'll liven you up, Padfoot," James half-whispers.  He jerks his head over to the bushes.  "Look who it is..."_

_Sirius turns as Snape stands up, and James can sense, rather than see, his mate's eager expression._

_"Excellent. Snivellus."_

_James and Sirius look at each other briefly before rising, both drawing their wands.  Remus remains sitting, pretending not to notice their 'behavior', which is just fine with James anyway- more fun for him and Sirius.  He's sure that Peter is watching avidly, as always, but he doesn't bother to check.  It isn't necessary._

_"All right, Snivellus?" calls James, loud enough that plenty of his classmates turned.  They want to see Snape's latest humiliation, and James is only too happy to oblige._

_He cannot think about that for more than a moment, however.  The past year has trained Snape to react quickly, but he's no match for James when he already has his wand out.  It's almost slow motion for him- Snape's wand appearing from his pocket, rising to aim at James' face...._

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_Snivellus' wand flies out of his hand; Sirius laughs loudly just as it lands in the grass._

_"Impedimenta!" Snape is knocked aside by Sirius' spell, and James looks up to see students slowly gathering around the spectacle.  He unconsciously runs a hand through his hair as the two walk towards Snape with their wands raised.  James checks to see if the girls are looking and feels a thrill run through him as Alice points him out._

_"How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" James asks, glad that he's finally got their attention._

_"I was watching him," Sirius supplies.  "His nose was touching the parchment.  There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word."  The crowd laughed, and James felt the warmth in his chest that came whenever he is at the center of attention._

_"You- wait.... you-wait...." Snape stutters, trying to glare at James, but he feels less intimidated than ever._

_"Wait for what?"  Sirius is quick to come to James' aid, though he doesn't need it.  "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?"_

_Snape suddenly breaks, squirming as he tries to throw the jinx off of him, all the while swearing and screaming hexes.  James' eyes are immediately drawn to Snape's wand, which is still more than a safe distance away.  He is about to go pick it up when he caught one of Snape's mutterings._

_"...bloody fuckers._ Anclavinus _-"_

_James recognizes the spell. His father has told him of the Aurors found with their nails ripped out.  It's Dark Magic, and it causes James' stomach to turn.  "Wash out your mouth," he says, the venom in his voice far from disguised.  "Scourgify!"_

_The bubbles pour out of Snape's mouth, as if he's vomiting them, and James can't believe that anybody that Evans hangs around with is so disgusting._

_"Leave him ALONE!"_

_Speak of the devil..._

_James hurriedly messes up his hair again as he turns around.  It's Lily- it's Evans, it's Evans._

_"All right, Evans?" he says, making sure that his voice is deeper than normal.  Sirius will give him shit for this later, but right now he can't bring himself to give a damn what Sirius thinks._

_"Leave him alone," Evans says, apparently unimpressed with everything before her.  "What's he done to you?"_

_There is a part of James that knows that Evans will not like his answer, but that part is rarely in control.  He couldn't just back off Snivellus now, not even if he wanted to.  There are people watching, and he isn't about to let Evans have the upper hand._

_"Well, it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean..."_

_The crowd laughs, but Lily- Evans- keeps the same disapproving expression._

_"You think you're funny, but you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter," she retorts.  "Leave him alone."_

_"I will if you go out with me, Evans." James will wince about the desperation of his words later, but right now he has a chance, a card to play, and he isn't about to let it go.  "Go on... Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."  He can tell Sirius is trying to figure out if he's lying by the way he leans forward to get a better look at his face.  James hopes his expression doesn't betray his intentions._

_"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," Lily says quickly.  James grits his teeth, the familiar sinking feeling in his gut returning._

_"Bad luck, Prongs," Sirius says, clapping him on the shoulder.  "OY!"_

_There is a sudden flash of white light and James feels a flaring pain.  Blood seeps down from his cheek, staining his robes with a surprising amount of scarlet, but he doesn't pause to heal it.  He turns, and there is another flash of light.  Snape is hanging upside down in midair._

_Most of the people watching laugh, and James even notices Lily's expression change for a brief moment.  A few Hufflepuffs from the edge of the Lake have scurried over to join the group, and James knows that he has chosen his spell much wiser than Snape.  The gash on his cheek is a physical injury, a mark of the morality that Snivellus is so willing to break; humiliation is longer lasting at Hogwarts._

_"Let him down!" Lily yells, her anger quickly returning.  James notices how pretty she looks, even when she's angry, and he's again marveled that she's friends with a git like Snape._

_"Certainly," he says collectively, flicking his wand.  Snape falls to the ground instantly; he is barely upright again before Sirius casts a Leg-Locker Curse on him._

_"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily has her wand out now.  James' eyes lock on the tip of it before studying her face.  It crosses his mind that she's bluffing, but his instinct dissuades the notion almost immediately.  Snivellus is her friend, however much James wants to deny it, and he doesn't doubt Lily's loyalty in the slightest.  He knows the look in Lily's eyes, because it's the same look he sees in Sirius', Remus', or Peter's when he's threatened, and because his eyes have held that ferocity as well.  It's the look of a friend defending another friend, and James' chest has a painful twinge._

_He can tell Sirius is looking at him for action.  Sirius thrives on conflict, much like James, but unlike him he has no problem dueling this girl.  James knows that neither one of them wants to be in a fight the other one isn't comfortable with._

_James blows off the seriousness of the situation. "Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you."_

_"Take the curse off him, then!" shouts Lily._

_He sighs exasperatedly, turning to Snape and muttering the countercurse.  "There you go," says James in a mocking tone.  Snape is finally able to rise to his feet again without being knocked down.  "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus-"_

_"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"_

_James' blood instantly boils, and he can feel the other Marauders tense around him.  How dare he talk to her like that, how dare he say that to her? He's supposed to be her friend, and James cannot think of a filthier word.  His brain is clouded by rage._

_"Fine."  Lily's voice is cool and collected, and James has seen her brush off a dozen similar comments from Slytherins.  But Snape is her friend.  She is more hurt than she seems.  "I won't bother in the future-" James hears the brief hiccup in her voice- "And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."_

_It isn't enough. "Apologize to Evans!" he demands, aiming his wand at Snape, whose wand is far from dueling height._

_"I don't want you to make him apologize," yells Lily furiously, as if he were the one that had insulted her.  "You're as bad as he is..."_

_"What?" James shouts, aghast that she would even compare them.  "I'd NEVER call you a- you-know-what!" He can't believe how quickly the tables have turned, that she is more comfortable shouting at him than Snivellus.  She's conveniently forgotten that he doesn't use Dark Magic, and he doesn't hang out with future Death Eaters.  Sides were drawn long ago, and, even though she is only now seeing that, he is shocked that she is yelling at him when all Snape gets was a cold comment._

_Blood rushes to Lily's face, contrasting horribly with her hair, as she places her hands on her hips and glares.  "Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch-" (so she did notice)- "walking down the corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can-" (James wants to point out that it isn't just because he can, it's because, as she herself noted, they annoyed him, but she continues to rant)"-I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it.  You make me SICK." Lily stalks away towards the castle, anger practically radiating off her._

_"Evans! Hey, EVANS!"  James isn't surprised when she doesn't bother to look back. "What is it with her?" he asks Sirius as casually as possible, pretending that his blood isn't racing._

_"Reading between the lines," Sirius says, in a tone that can only mean his comment will be painfully sardonic, "I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate."_

_"Right... right..." James is positively fuming now.  When will he ever be good enough? Godric, Evans could be a right bint.  Did she just get off by rejecting him in every way humanly possible?  And what was with that fucking speech?_

  _He suddenly realizes he is still watching her walk away._

 

 

James woke up with a start.  He could make out the scarlet curtains, so the sun must have risen, but his body ached with too little sleep.  Footsteps were scurrying around the room, and the faint buzz of whispers could be heard, so it must've been at least six.  

He rolled over, reaching through the red fabric for his glasses.  His fingers ran over the cool glass, grasping the frames once he was sure it wasn't any of the other items on his bedside table.  The dim dormitory came into focus when he put them on; he wrenched his eyelids apart, feeling the undeniable knowledge of his inability to go back to sleep run through him.  His dream was still firmly placed in the forefront of his brain, and lying in bed would only force him to ponder that moment.

He swung his feet out of bed, the cold stone floor draining any lethargy that remained.  Frank and Gideon were tying their shoes at the other end of the room.  Both looked up suddenly when James kicked open his trunk.

"James," Gideon said with furrowed eyebrows.  "Did we wake you?" James understood the confusion; he was an extremely deep sleeper, having slept through games of Exploding Snap, Sonorus Charms, and even Sirius jumping on his bed.  

"Nah," James answered.  "Weird dreams."  He noticed the way that Frank was staring determinedly at his own trainers.  He'd been avoiding James ever since he hadn't selected him for Chaser.  James had never thought of him as a sore loser, but he'd apparently been wrong.

A grunt came from Remus' bed, and they took that as a warning to dress in silence.  Frank left the room first, his gaze straight-forward.  He didn't even bother to shut the door behind him.  Gideon and James exchanged a meaningful look and shrugged before they left the room, James still struggling to put on his robe.

"You're never up this early, unless it's for Quidditch," Gideon said as they descended the stairs.  "I don't think I've ever seen you at breakfast since third year."

James shrugged.  "Breakfast isn't exactly my favorite meal.  They should have it later in the day."

"If they did, that would be early and now would be very late," Gideon said.  "It's all a matter of perspective."

"Profound," James said dryly.  The pair crossed the Common Room, the fireplace still glowing with embers, parchment scattered across the floor, an empty board of Wizard's Chess.... Gryffindor had been up late last night, but the Marauders had outdone all of them.  James checked his watch- he'd been asleep barely two hours. 

"You and the Marauders up late last night?" Gideon asked as they passed the noticeboard.  James automatically checked the flyer for a missing Nimbus 1700, to see if there was any information written down on it, but it was blank, as it had been for the past month.  He couldn't bring himself to place an order in for a new broom, though he also shuddered at the thought of using one of the school's in an actual match. His teammates weren't about to tell their captain to get a move on, but he could see the skepticism in their eyes whenever he walked onto the pitch with a Swiftstick, made in the 1950's.  James thought he could probably make do with the broom if it wasn't for its complete inability to ascend at a reasonable speed.  

Gideon noticed him looking.  "It's not gonna turn up, James.  It's been a month."

James' shoulders sagged. "Maybe."  He knew Gideon was rolling his eyes, but Quidditch was just a sport for him.  It was more for James.

"Come on, I'm starving."

The two walked through the Fat Lady and down to the Great Hall, discussing Quidditch and Frank's newfound grudge.  The Hall itself was rather empty, with less than twenty people silently chewing their meals.  Some were leaned over books, maybe pulling all-nighters for some exam they were doomed to fail, but most were staring at their plates, half-asleep.  James felt like joining the latter group when he noticed several Slytherins looking his way.

It was Avery and Mulciber's crowd, of course.  They were glaring across the table, visibly sizing James and Gideon up.  Only Flitwick was supervising breakfast this early, but James didn't know if it mattered or not.  If they were willing to torture him and attempt to kill Maddie Brookings, then were school rules and the threat of detentions and house points relevant?

He'd had fourteen class periods with the Slytherins so far, and every one of them had been prefaced by tension-filled glances and hands itching for wands.  James knew that if one group even jostled the other upon leaving a classroom, the thin wires holding everyone back would snap.  He was determined not to strike first, so as not to break his promise of no revenge, but occasionally the image of Maddie's broken body or the agony of Cruciatus flashed through him, and he felt sick for inaction.  Sick for allowing these people to walk the same halls that Angela, Gideon, and Lily did.  

Gideon looked to see what James was so fixated on, and his half-smile fell as soon as he saw the Slytherins.  "Come on, James.  They're not even worth it."

James didn't move. It was as if they were daring him to stand his ground, to look away.  They couldn't know that he occasionally had nightmares about that night.   _I'm not scared_ , James thought.   _I'm not scared of you fuckers.  Come and get it._

As if they'd heard him, Yaxley and two others stood up, pulling their wands from their robes, mouths open- James plunged his hand into his pocket, grasping his wand, acting on pure instinct as he felt Gideon do the same beside him-

There was a roar of feet on stone.  Forks clattering on wooden tables and glass plates. Swishes of robes. Spilling of goblets. The sound of fabric  brushing  against itself.  James turned; half the students in the hall had stood up, wands raised, pointed across the tables at the group of Slytherins.

"Do it, Avery," a third year Hufflepuff yelled, oatmeal trickling down his chin.  "I dare you."

"Yeah, go for it, you lot!"

"You mess with Maddie, you mess with all of us!"

"We've got you by the balls, Mulciber."

"FUCK YOU!" screamed Claire Davens.

James smirked.  He had the upperhand, a position he was used to, and he couldn't help but relish it for a moment.  "Well, Avery, Mulciber, Yaxley, the rest of you... I see you pulled your wands out in the Great Hall, which is against school rules.  Detention for the next two weeks.  Hagrid's told me the Giant Squid needs its tentacles cleaned."

Mulciber looked at Avery for direction, but his eyes were fixed on James.  He left the Slytherin table, the others following him, and whispered to him in passing, "We'll wait until you don't have your darling posse to protect you.  Then we'll see what you're made of."

And then they left, James' eyes glued to back of their heads until the doors closed behind them.  He turned back up to the front, addressing Professor Flitwick, who was taking a particularly long drink of pumpkin juice.

"I didn't see anything, Professor," James said, ushering the students around him to drop their wands.

"Nor did I," Flitwick answered.  "Is there any reason yourself and Mr. Prewett are standing in front of the doorway? Perhaps you'd like to join your house for breakfast."

 

The Question Game between James and Lily had temporarily stopped any hostility during their rounds.  He was not sure how long this would go on, but the game was likely to last longer now that they had played it several times.  The problem with the Question Game was that, while it was fairly easy to obtain a point or two within the first two rounds, opponents would become more open after.  Lily had already told him when she first had her period; why shouldn't she reveal her most embarrassing moment (which turned out to be her Ancient Ruins professor revealing in front of the entire class that she had forgotten to turn in an essay)?

James didn't mind.  It meant that no victory was in sight (4-2, in his favor), but it also meant that he had a reason to talk to her.  He had a reason to ask her questions, things about her and not just "Did Slughorn cancel class?", "Have you seen a Snitch around here?" or "Do you just _like_ to ruin everyone's day?"  He asked questions that centered around her opinions and her life.  It was far from a clever ruse; he could tell Lily knew exactly what he was up to.  All the same, she played along, answering conversational questions and asking similar ones.

"Death by heat or cold?"

"Cold.  I'd at least suffer from euphoria before I died," Lily said, checking a broom closet.  "Same question."

"Heat," James replied easily.  "I'd probably die naked."

Lily rolled her eyes, but he saw the half-concealed smile.  She closed the broom closet door too hard, and there was a clash of mops and other cleaning supplies crashing against the walls.  The pair looked at each other, Lily smiling guiltily.  "Whoops."  She opened the door again, two mops and various bottles landing on the floor.  James waved his wand, and they all went back to their proper place.

"I wouldn't imagine that James Potter would know any cleaning spells," Lily jibed.

"Don't tell anyone.  I've got a reputation to protect."

"What was your favorite childhood toy?"

"A broomstick," James said evenly.

"Obviously."

"Are you close with your dad?"

Lily glanced briefly at him before answering, perhaps surprised at the sudden serious question. "Yeah, decently so.  I can talk to him more than Petunia can.  He doesn't really get out much, and I... Well, I admire him.  He's very capable."

James nodded, thinking about how his own father was nearing the opposite.  

"How about you? You close with your dad?"

"Yeah," he said simply.  "We're a lot alike.  But it's been hard lately."

She seemed satisfied with that answer; she probably thought it had to do with his mother's death, not the slow decay of his father's brain.

"What's your full name?"  James said, steering the conversation away from that night.  He hadn't checked one classroom during patrols thus far, but Lily wasn't about to berate him.  It was just past the fourth years' curfew on a Wednesday night, so it wasn't worth the risk for any of the younger students.  The most trouble they'd get that night was some students sneaking to the kitchens, unless DEWBs were to come out later. James remembered Avery's threat of finding him without help, and he can't imagine that Lily would be spared if they found him during rounds.  He wrapped his fingers around his wand in his pocket, feeling momentarily tense, before he reminded himself of the hour.  All the same...

James checked the next classroom just as Lily responded.  

"Lily Anne Evans.  You?"

"James Harold Potter VII."

"You're _joking._ "

"Nope.  My family's not known for our creativity with names."

"Mine either! We name all the girls after flowers!" Lily complained.

"Do you not like your name?"

"No, I guess it's fine, it's just so _cliche..._ " she sighed.  "What about you?"

"I like 'Lily,'" James said, focusing on how the two syllables felt on his tongue.

"No! I mean do you like your name."

"Oh.  Yeah, I think it fits me.  Regal and the like- Seriously, do you just continuously roll your eyes during conversation?  Is that supposed to be an endearing quirk?"  He felt at ease again, thoughts of DEWBS and danger barely clinging to the back of his mind.

Lily turned her head to face him, her cheeks slightly red at being caught.  "Maybe if you weren't so _arrogant_ , my eyes could stay in place."

James didn't respond.  He could only think about how "arrogant" hadn't come out as contemptuous, insulting, or with hatred.  It was playful, joking, a jibe between...

_Heads.  A jibe between Heads, James_.

He couldn't help it.  James watched Lily checking most of the classrooms, himself opting to follow suit for the rest of patrols, feeling a shock sink deep into his chest and expanding across his shoulders as he observed the long strands of red or the occasional grin that was becoming less and less occasional and more and more frequent.  He was beginning to realize that this Question Game might establish more than a truce.  Because Lily _was_  acting differently- she really was. He wasn't just telling himself that, because she said hi to him in almost every class now and even asked for his help on Transfiguration yesterday.  She had triple-checked that he was coming to patrols that day, and now that Amos was out of the picture...

This was the year, James knew.  This was the year. 

 

 

**A/N: Here you go! I'm so sorry for the delay! Please forgive me!!!!!!!!! I don't deserve a review, but it would be uber nice!!!!**

 

 


	18. An Ace Under the Table

The strange animosity that had sprung up between James and Frank continued through September, and, even more strangely, spread.  Frank would no longer talk to Sirius, Remus, or Peter.  Every morning he would wake up much earlier than the Marauders, as he had always done, but the rare glimpses of him leaving the dorm or from across the dinner table were always filled with a distance.  Even Lily, who knew Frank very well through association, being one of Alice's best friends, and who was nothing but pleasant with him, only received monosyllabic responses. This coldness toward her had appeared right after seeing her laughing with James.  Only Alice and Gideon were able to converse with him- everybody else could barely make eye contact.

Frank had always been a reasonable bloke, as far as James had been concerned.  Perhaps not as mischievous or foolhardy was the Marauders, but certainly someone who knew how to have a good time.  He'd conspired with Alice on several occasions to prevent Lily from discovering a party, a stack of illegal fireworks, and the like.  Occasionally he talked a bit too much about Alice, but it was something to poke fun at more than anything.  Overall, for Frank to hold on to some grudge over Quidditch tryouts, which had been weeks ago, seemed ridiculous, and, honestly, as Sirius put it, "like a fucking bird."  Frank had walked in when Sirius had said that, and, though the Marauders had tensed for some sort of confrontation, he hadn't reacted at all.  Just beelined to his trunk, threw something small in it, and ran out with a beet-red face. 

James and Frank had never been particularly close- he imagined the Marauders created an air of exclusivity, which had forced Gideon and Frank to become mates early on.  However, it was difficult not to have at least some level of friendship when living together for six years.  Even before Hogwarts, James could remember playing with him at a few of his parents' dinner parties, and though it hadn't resulted in a long-lasting friendship, it was rather petty of Frank to throw away all of that over Quidditch tryouts.  If the positions had been switched, James thought, he would've been much angrier at himself than at Frank.  After all, it wasn't as if Frank had performed spectacularly.  James wasn't ignoring a prodigy; he just thought that Claire and Troy would fit the team better.  Frank _had_ slipped off his own broom multiple times. It was his own fault, James reasoned. 

Had Frank been expecting something different? Had he expected an automatic spot on the team, since they had a friendship? 

"Why does it bother you so much?" Sirius had asked him once.  "Just let him be a prissy little bitch."

"I dunno," James had answered truthfully.  "I just don't understand it."

In reality, the distance between him and Frank had only added to the escalating amount of stress in James' life.  His father and Valerie had both sent him letters, each with contrasting messages.  While his father insisted everything was fine, Valerie had passed on the opinion of her own father, who insisted quite the opposite.  Mr. Potter's position on several boards and committees was being questioned, and even some of the Potter family assets had been temporarily closed off until Mr. Potter could be deemed mentally healthy.  The letter from his father had seemed perfectly functional, but James wondered how many drafts his dad had written.  

The goblins from Gringotts also seemed to think that it was James they should be dealing with, since he was the one whom they had consulted about security at the Lucas' over the summer.  James had almost written back to tell them that it was his father who handled such matters, but thought better of it.  His dad certainly didn't need more stress, and the most they were asking for was a signature at the bottom of a few sheets of parchment.  Remus cautioned him about signing documents he didn't know a lot about, but, as Sirius had swiftly pointed out, in the worst case scenario James could always have the documents invalidated since he wasn't the primary holder of the various accounts.  Still, James had read through the documents, only understanding about half of them on the first read. 

He was also trying to take on more Head Boy duties, since it was obvious that Lily was drowning under her school work and the Headship duties of two, since James still had no clear idea what he was supposed to be doing.  He'd discovered that he was expected to tutor younger students, and that Lily had taken on the entire project for herself.  After insisting that he could handle it and promising that he wouldn't deliberately mislead them, Lily relented and let him take over all the Transfiguration groups.  It was easy enough actually tutoring, but several of the students were clearly so intimidated by him that they didn't bother to ask questions.  Several others took it as a joke and stopped showing up.  To further complicate matters,  Maddie Brookings was in one of the groups, and she had taken to idolizing James.  When he'd complained to the Quidditch team about Maddie tracing his name over and over in clear view of all the others, Angela had pointed out, "Well, what were you expecting when you saved her life?"

And, finally, there was Quidditch.  The team itself was working out beautifully.  Angela had been encouraged by tryouts and only improved as practices went on.  Emmeline and the new Beater, Anthony, complimented each other nicely (Blake, though clearly disappointed at not being chosen for first string, still smiled at James in passing, in a clear contrast to Frank).  Gideon was thriving, happy to be off the Reserve Team at last.  Troy was becoming more tolerable and less of a mouthy git, and Claire was quickly picking up on the tricks James had shown her to compensate for her size.

The problem with Quidditch was, for once, James.  His broom was still missing;the poster in the Common Room covered my much more recent requests.  The team was clearly holding their tongues; only Gideon and Troy dared to gently bring up the topic of ordering a new broom.  James always shut down the topic immediately.  Despite it being a little over a month since his broom had disappeared, he couldn't let it go.  He couldn't seem to explain it satisfactorily to the team.  To them, James was just being ridiculous and even harmful to the team with the Slytherin v. Gryffindor game coming around the corner.  But to James, who could still remember the splinters the broom had imbedded into his fingers the first few days of flying too hard, his Nimbus wasn't replaceable. 

And, as it later turned out, no Nimbus was.

 

 

"Fuck. _Fuck_."

The _Quidditch Quill,_ which James had been subscribed to since he was ten, had published the first article in his memory that had led to such surprise.  James usually knew most of what was printed in the monthly magazine, following Quidditch dealings daily, but this article defied everything that he had previously conceived about broom companies, specifically Nimbus, who had always produced the highest quality Quidditch brooms in James' memory.  Others might be faster, but the handling and balance of a Nimbus broom could not be matched. 

" _In order to pursue revolutionary research into the improvement of racing brooms, Nimbus will temporarily cease production.  No news has been released as in to how long this hiatus will last or concerning exact details of Nimbus' 'research'.  An anonymous source claims the company is having financial difficulties-_ Dragon shit.  Nimbus makes the best fucking brooms around," James spouted angrily.  "Do you have any idea what this will do to the League?"

"Please enlighten us," Remus said sardonically, reaching across the breakfast table for the double chocolate chip pancakes that he'd been gesturing at for the past minute.  It was a dreary Saturday with an icy rain that had no business on a Hogsmeade weekend.  Regardless, most of those third year and above were bundled and eating a light breakfast before heading out.  James, Remus, and Peter (they'd lost Sirius on the way to the Great Hall) were not, however.  The Marauders had been there so often that it had lost much of its appeal.  Besides, while many of the seventh years had also been there a good many times, they were looking forward to their first trip of the year.  The Marauders had already accomplished that multiple times during the last month and a half.

"The 1700 has been out for a little over a year!" James continued, ignoring Remus and Peter's knowing smiles.  "But still not every team has them, fucking idiots.  The teams that do are still going to have an advantage on the League, until _Comet_  comes out with a new broom, which still won't be as good at the 1700.  This is going to completely unbalance the scales. Not to mention, the value of the broom is going to skyrocket faster than it can fucking fly.  People are going to make so many knockoffs, most of which will fly for five minutes before falling to the ground.  Nimbus has no idea what it just did!"

"So, are you going to buy a Comet broom then?  Because you can't ride the Swiftstick, Prongs. I don't care how bloody good you are at flying, mate, that broom is a piece of shit," Peter asked.

"No idea," James responded instantly, honestly not having connected the article with his own situation until now.  "I'd really rather get my own broom back."

"But how are you going to _do_ that?" Remus asked impatiently. 

"The same way he's going to get Evans to like him," Sirius jabbed as he sat down, having caught the end of the conversation.  

"Where've you been?" James asked, mostly to change the subject.

"Talking to Meadowes.  Said I was real sorry about last year, but did she care for a quicky in the broom closet? I didn't even get slapped."

"No way, you shagged her?" Peter exclaimed loudly.

"Not _yet._  What needs to be emphasized here is that I did not get slapped. That means she wants me to shag her," Sirius explained, as if to a small child.

James nodded in agreement, but Remus just looked aghast.  "Is that it? Is that the end to your argument?"

"It made sense to me," Peter said.  

Remus shook his head.  "Shame you don't still have your Nimbus, James.  You could buy Padfoot some brains."

The four of them ate the rest of their breakfasts in relative silence (all were loud eaters), before standing up to leave.  James debated on whether he should bring _Quidditch Quill_  with him or just leave it to rot until the end of days, but eventually decided to roll it up and shove it in his pocket, in case there was some detail that he'd missed.  He caught up with the rest of the Marauders and left the Great Hall; Diggory gave James a strange look in passing that Peter imitated well enough to have all the Marauders laughing loudly in the Entrance Hall.

They were just climbing the staircase when James heard his name being called out behind him.  Recognizing it instantly as Maddie Brookings, James' eyes widened, and he ushered the Marauders to move faster.  Instead, they made sure to take up as much space as possible on the staircase and move at the pace of a three-legged dragon about to give birth.  James frantically tried to squeeze between them, but he couldn't manage it in time.

"James! Hi!" Maddie said brightly upon reaching them.  She still had a few scars around her face that Madam Pomfrey hadn't been able to get rid of, but they were faint.  There was one on her temple that curled slightly at the end; it was eerily similar to one on James' back.  It had unnerved him at first, to see the reminder of the curse they'd both suffered, but now he was more unnerved by the advances of a fourteen year old girl.

"Hey, Maddie," James said as naturally as possible.  "What's up?" The Marauders behind him were faking a very quiet conversation so as to overhear.

She nervously put a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flickering between James' face and her hands.  "I was just going to Hogsmeade now," she said.

_Oh, fuck me_. "Oh, yeah? With your mates?" James supplied.

"No, my friends are all going with some boys.  Even Angela's got somebody- Not that, you know, Angela's not good-looking, just that she doesn't usually get guys.  Not from any deficit on her part, just that she's more focused on other things. You know?  But, yeah.  They're all going with somebody.  Alone.  With somebody.  They're obviously not going alone, how pathetic would that be?"

"I don't think it'd be pathetic at all," James lied.  He'd always thought the loner kids strolling through Hogsmeade to be a bit off, honestly. "Maybe people just want to be alone with their thoughts, yeah?" He vaguely remembered Remus using that as an excuse sometimes when they'd force him out of the library to have a bit of fun.

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Maddie backtracked.  "I'm not really in that kind of mood today, though."

"Right.  Well, I'm sure you could find somebody that'd go with you.  You're one of the good ones, Maddie." 

A faint blush rose in her cheeks.  "Thanks, James."

"Not a problem.  I would offer to go with you, but-"

"Oh, Prongs, don't worry about it," Sirius cut in.  "We can do that later."

"No, I really don't think-"

"Prongs, don't be ridiculous.  It can wait until later, I promise," Remus insisted.

Maddie must have caught the look of hatred that James shot at the Marauders, because her smile, which had remained steadily bright during this entire conversation, wavered.  James felt a sudden guilt sink into his whole body.  James quickly rearranged his features to a look of relief, and said, "Well, I guess that settles it.  I could go with you to Hogsmeade."

"Great!" Maddie exclaimed.  "Do you need to go get a cloak, it's awfully cold outside."

"Nah, I'm alright," James insisted, walking away from his friends and towards the Entrance Hall doors.  Maddie followed him, and, as soon as she was even with him, James flashed the two behind his back at the Marauders.  He could hear them stifling their laughter as they left the castle.  The rain had relented somewhat, but the chill remained.  James instantly stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, his right curling around _Quidditch Quill._   

"Sorry about them," he added.  "They weren't laughing at you."

"Okay."  She didn't seem to feel the need to elaborate.  They walked along the path, finding themselves at the end of a throng of students waiting to pass the gates.  Filch was waving a Secrecy Sensor over every student before allowing them through.  James mentally checked that he didn't have anything illegal on him before stepping forward.  Filch ran the Sensor over him seven times before being satisfied and still glared distrustfully at him as he ran to catch up with Maddie.  

The pair passed the walk to the village with mostly small talk.  They spoke a lot about Angela, since that was the only common link between them besides that night, but Maddie was became very closed off after a while.  James asked her what she liked to do for fun, but she didn't give any sort of a specific answer for him to build off of.  Maddie told him a story about her first visit to Hogsmeade last year that he was evidently supposed to find funny; James laughed just inside the appropriate time limit.  She seemed to hang on every detail that he said.  Once or twice she complimented him, after which James became much more natural.

When they reached Hogsmeade,  Maddie pointed at the Three Broomsticks, but James shook his head.  There'd be too many people there right now, all of whom would think that James Potter was dating a fourteen year old.  Maddie failed at concealing her disappointment as they walked further down the road, passing their classmates diverging into Gladrag's or Honeydukes.  James led them down a road to the right, and they ducked quickly into the Hog's Head.  James' hair was very wet, though the back did manage to stand up, as always.  Maddie's cloak wasn't much better, making a thick splat as it hit the chair that she hung it on.  

The bar was cleaner than it usually was.  The glasses had no brown remnants sticking to the bottom, the chairs were all standing upright, and even the barman smiled at them as they walked in.  Pleasantly surprised, James sat down at the table opposite of Maddie.  He noticed that more students were in the Hog's Head than usual, but he saw nobody he recognized.  Conscious of the fact that they would still likely recognize him, he turned his head away and looked at Maddie.

"Are you nervous for N.E.W.T.s?" she asked.  "I'd be out of my mind."

James was momentarily confused.  "It's _October_."

"Well, you still have time, but you really only have seven months before you take the biggest tests of your life.  I hate tests.  I'm awful at them.  But I suppose you already knew that."

"I'm not worried," he said confidently.

"Of course, you're not," she said, reaching across the table and grabbing his hand.  James retracted it quickly, as if it had been set on fire.  He saw the pain sink into her features, and she let her hand slip drearily back into her lap. Her eyes left James', settling on the corner of the table.

"Maddie... I-"

"Are we ready to order here?" A waiter had come over the table, but his chipper mood disappeared as soon as he looked at Maddie.  

"Two butterbeers," James said hurriedly.  The waiter looked more than glad to leave the awkward situation.  James sighed, his eyes never leaving Maddie's face.  "I thought you knew, that me coming to Hogsmeade with you... was just as friends."

"Well, I wasn't sure," Maddie explained, still staring at the corner. "I was stupid.  Obviously we're just friends.  I'm Maddie Brookings, you're James Potter.  The only reason anyone knows who I am is because my parents died and because you saved me.  I'm not pretty like Lizzy Bennet or popular like Lily Evans... "  At this point, she began to cry; thick tears cascaded down her cheeks, practically forming a current, but her voice didn't waver. "Why did you even bother?"

James, who until that point had been preparing a gentle let-down, felt something burst inside him.  "Maddie.  Don't say things like that.  You're worth everything that Angela and I went through that night, and more.  Alright? Don't ever think that you weren't worth it."

Her eyes darted from the table to James' face, locking eye contact.  "Do you promise?"  A bit of snot ran down from her nostril, and she quickly wiped it with her sleeve.  "Do you promise?"

"Yes," James said instantly, unaware of what he was actually promising to.  Maddie seemed satisfied with that answer, though, as she flashed the waiter a grin as he set the butterbeers down in front of them.

She giggled feebly.  "I feel like an idiot.  I just poured out everything.  I made things really awkward."

"No," James said, though he completely agreed with her.  He'd learned early that girls often expected you to disagree with them.  "Don't worry over it."  He was just taking a large gulp of butterbeer, hoping that Maddie would say something else, when Lily and Dorcas walked into the bar. Both were soaked, Lily's hair almost copper with rain.  Dorcas' hair was dry, having the hood on her cloak pulled up, but James could tell that she was complaining about her mud-covered shoes when she entered.  The two girls hung their cloaks on the back of some chairs, and were about to sit down when they spotted the pair sitting at the opposite table. 

"Hi, James! Oh, hi, Maddie!" Dorcas said, walking over to the table.  Lily followed her, seeming almost reluctant.  "How're you two?"

"Fine," Maddie said quietly, quickly rubbing any remaining tears from her face. Dorcas was clearly going to pretend not to notice, but Lily's eyebrows rose as soon as she saw the puffy red eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, but clearly not meaning a word she said.

"Do you want to talk about-?"

"That's a great idea! Lily is such a good listener, Maddie," Dorcas said knowledgeably.  "Talk to her, I promise you'll feel so much better."

"I'm fine," Maddie insisted, but Dorcas had already grabbed James' arm and pulled him from the table.  Butterbeer sloshed down his robes.

"Oh, don't be so posh.  We have magic," she said when James made an indignant gesture.  "We'll give you two a minute.  I'm sure Lily is better at solving this problem than James anyhow."

"There isn't a _problem,_ " Maddie spouted angrily.

"Well, maybe there isn't, but can I still sit down and talk to you, Maddie?  We don't have to talk about anything you don't want-"

The rest of Lily's words were drowned out by distance as Dorcas pulled his sleeve. James turned around, and Lily had taken his seat.  Maddie was already beginning to cry again.  He hoped Lily was a miracle worker, because this was by far the most uncomfortable encounter he'd had in the Hog's Head.

"James," Dorcas said sternly, stopping abruptly in the corner.  "James, I know where your broom is."

"What?" His head snapped forward so fast that his neck popped.  "Where? Did  _you_ take it? Who did?"

Dorcas smiled, as if she was expecting all of these questions.  "I didn't take your broom.  I just know where it is."  She pulled a strand of dark hair behind her ear, much the same way that Maddie had done before.  "It's in the Room of Requirement."

"You know about the Room?"

"Sirius showed it to me last year," she said dismissively.  "It's in the Room of Hidden Things.  Near the back, where the cabinet with the five-legged skeleton is? It should be leaning up against it. Don't tell anyone I told you this, though, okay? Just tell them that you found it behind the school or something weird."

"Fat chance.  Who took it, then, if you didn't? Why are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you because the person who did take your broom told me to tell you." She glanced over at the table with Maddie and Lily, who were now both occupying one bench, and spoke more quickly.  "They decided it was a mistake and felt really bad about it, but they're afraid of what you'll do if you knew it was them.  They came to me, because if anyone can keep a secret in this school, it's me. And I want to see Gryffindor pummel Slytherin as much as anyone.  You seriously cannot tell anyone- alright, you can tell your bloody Marauders, but that's it, okay? I promised I wouldn't tell everything, but _please_ , James?   _Please_.  I promise you won't like it either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can't tell you, git.  That's what I just said, innit? Now go get your broom."

"This isn't over," James said, still moving away.

"If you say so," Dorcas said, knowing very well that it was.

James rolled his eyes and sprinted back to the table.  Lily was embracing Maddie, rubbing her shoulder as she sobbed. Pulling some coins from his pocket, he opened his mouth for an excuse, but Lily shook her head quickly.  James understood and dropped the Sickles on the table as quietly as possible, mouthed a quick "Thank you" to Lily, before running out of the Hog's Head as fast as his legs would carry him.

 

 

The broom was just where Dorcas said it would be.  His fingers closed around the handle with a paradoxical mixture of relief and apprehension.  The familiar grain pattern eased the muscles in his hand, and he suddenly knew that this was _his_  Nimbus, not anyone else's.  This was the Nimbus he'd flown when he'd won the Quidditch Cup last year, when he'd gone an entire practice upside down, and, yes, when he'd flown for eighteen hours and his hands had become a blistered, calloused mess.  This was the Nimbus he'd flown to Sirius' house the summer before fifth year, to kidnap him from his ridiculously pureblood maniac family. He'd flown the broom to Remus' house over the summers, to help him through the moon.  And it was this broom that he'd drove into the glass of his mirror back home.

It was also the last thing that his mother had given him before she went to St. Mungo's.  

The balance was exactly the same as it had been before.  James couldn't help himself, he mounted the broom and kicked off right there.  Even though he wasn't outside, the familiar rush of air against his face was exhilarating.  He dived towards the ground, swooping through the rows of broken furniture and oddities of the magical world, then flew upwards sharply, his feet scraping the ground.  He looped through the air, unable to wipe the smile from his face.  

It was quite a while before James was able to come down from the air.  When he did, he rolled from his broom to the ground with a few feet still to go.  The impact of the stone floor spread through his shoulder, but he still laughed from the elation of it all.  Standing up, he walked over to his broom, which had fallen to the ground without a rider.  He held his open palm above it and shouted, "Up!" The Nimbus responded instantly, zooming into his hand as though it had been anticipating the command.

James left the Room of Hidden Things about two hours after he'd entered it, and he was still torn between the pitch and the Common Room.  Deciding that the Marauders could wait after their stunt that morning, James sprinted down the corridors and slid down the banister, feeling liberated beyond all constraints.

It wasn't until he reached the tapestry on the fourth floor that his mood drained at all.  James pushed the tapestry aside, revealing the narrow staircase that skipped a floor, along with Frank Longbottom, whose leg had sunk into the trick step.

"Thank Merlin, I've been here since noon," he said as soon as he saw James.  "Give me a hand, will you?"

"Looks like you need a leg to me," James said, walking down the stairs leisurely.

"Ha ha ha.  I suppose you don't want to stoop to my level either? Come on, James, I can't feel my leg anymore."

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a bunch," James retorted, resting his broom against the railing.  He supposed it was hard for Frank to be angry at him when his help was so desperately needed.  Hardly anybody used this staircase on the weekends, Frank would've likely had to wait for Filch to patrol that night.  

"On three, yeah?" James said, doubling over and wrapping his arms through Frank's pits. _Quidditch Quill_ fell out of his pocket in the process.  "One, two, three." He pulled upwards while Frank wiggled his leg, which came free with a strange _pop._

Frank groaned, turning to lean on the railing.  "My leg's been asleep for a while," he reiterated.  

"Right," James said, grabbing his broom and continuing to descend the staircase.

"Hey, James," Frank called, reaching into his pocket.  Something in Frank's voice, a certain friendliness and familiarity, made James turn around to see Frank holding up a pack of cigarettes.  "Smoke one with me?"

James was about to refuse when he really looked at Frank's face for the first time.  His eyes were red; his brown hair had clear treads where his hand had run through it multiple times; and his face, which had always been on the rounder side, was thin and pale.  He needed this cigarette, and he needed to share this strange moment in the middle of the stairs with somebody.  James nodded, leaning his broom against the railing again, and moved up a couple steps.

Frank opened the packet, shaking out two cigarettes.  James took one while Frank stuffed the box in his pocket, pulling out his wand in the process.  He lit James', which was already poised between his lips, and then his own.  They both inhaled simultaneously, the gold at the end of each stick glowing as it consumed itself.  

James exhaled first.  "Remus get you hooked?"

Frank nodded.  "Yeah.  Didn't think Muggle drugs could be so good."

"That's what we thought too," James replied, knowing Frank would understand that "we" meant Sirius, Peter, and himself.  "I used to smoke a lot, until I realized it was affecting Quidditch. Quit cold turkey.  Still" -he took another drag- "it's not too bad, every once in a while."

"I'm the opposite right now," Frank said.  "I used to only smoke whenever Remus offered, but lately I need it way more. Alice isn't too happy about it." 

James shrugged.  "She's a girl."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"  It wasn't aggressive, more genuinely curious.

"Birds don't think the same way we do.  Half of them have a wand up their arse all the time, but all of them have a wand up their arse half the time."  James knocked his cigarette against his finger, the ash sinking to the ground slowly. He watched it until it hit the ground, then looked back up at Frank.

"Profound," he said, nodding while suppressing a grin.  

"I like to think so." 

The pair smoked their cigarettes in calm.  James could feel the nicotine hit his brain, stimulating him in a similar way flying had done moments ago.  Thinking of this, he gestured to his broom, but Frank didn't notice, lost in his own thoughts.  James took a last drag, the cigarette nothing but a stub in his fingers, before steadying his gaze.

"Does this mean you're over Quidditch tryouts?" he said nonchalantly, flicking the bud onto the staircase.

Frank's eyes focused on him, nonplussed.  "Quidditch tryouts?"

"Yeah," James said, frustrated that Frank was going to try to beat around the bush.  "Ever since then, you've been acting like a fucking cock."

"I have not," Frank objected.  "I mean, sure, I've been a bit.... absorbed, but I wasn't deliberately being a cock, man.  And it has nothing to do with Quidditch tryouts.  I could hardly blame you for not picking me- I botched my flying. I really only tryout because Gideon kept pushing me to."

"Oh," said James, surprised.  "Why've you been so off then?"

Frank sighed.  "It was Alice's and my anniversary today."

James furrowed his eyebrows.  "Yeah, that's unfortunate..."

"I wanted to propose today."

"Holy _fuck_ , Frank," James said, almost taking a step backwards.  " _Propose_? Merlin, Frank, you two haven't- I mean, you've got to be- You've got to be one of the luckiest blokes here."

Frank narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  "Are you pulling my wand?"

"No," said James honestly.  "Fuck it, if you know you're in love and you want Alice forever, why the hell not?  You two have been together for an eternity. If anyone's should be married, it's you two. I think it's a great idea.  It's honestly a bit nauseating to see you two together sometimes."

"Thanks?" Frank said, laughing as he pulled out the packet of cigarettes again.  James took another one automatically, mulling over the situation while Frank pulled one for himself and lit the two.  

"So, what? You've just been so bloody nervous for the past month that you've dropped off all contact with everyone?"

"No...." Frank's good mood evaporated instantly.  "I just... I've been trying to figure out a way to get enough money to buy the ring.  I've done odd jobs for everyone I could find around Hogwarts, but none of the students really have money and the professors don't have anything a student can do.  I've been down to Hogsmeade and there's nothing there...I've borrowed so much money, but it's not enough... I've even mailed my mum, but Gringotts has temporarily closed down access to vault because of some security issue... Hell, I've sold everything I have that's valuable...And it has to be perfect. I know the ring that she wants, she pointed it out to me in Diagon Alley once, but _damn_  is it expensive.  But it doesn't matter, Alice deserves a perfect proposal, and I'll be damned if I can't give her one.  But our anniversary is already gone.  I was going to propose to her the same spot I asked her out for the first time, I had it all planned, but I didn't have the ruddy ring!"  

James stopped mid-inhale.  Frank gritted his teeth, shaking his head.  "Alice deserves so much more than this.  So much more than what I can give her."

"Frank, I don't think Alice could be more in love with you.  After seeing the past few years of you two together- have I mentioned the nauseating thing yet?"

"This isn't a bloody joke.  Alice means so much to me, alright, and I just wanted to give her something as perfect as she is."

James honestly didn't know how to respond to that.  One part of him wanted to make fun of Frank for being such a pussy, but another smaller, but stronger, part admired him. For giving everything he had for love. For wanting everything for someone else so badly that he was willing to have nothing.  For loving somebody else and having the courage to act upon it.  James knew, had known, for a long time that his own life revolved around emotion; he knew that if anything was worth anything, love had to be worth everything.  And to Frank, Alice was everything.

_Fuck,_ I'm _the pussy._

He had just opened his mouth to say something, though he had no idea what, when Frank dropped the rest of his cigarette and began to walk up the stairs.  James grabbed his broom, intending to follow him, when Frank spoke.

"That mag.  It's yours."

_Quidditch Quill_  lay open on the stairs in front of James.  He leaned down to pick it up, still intending to follow Frank, when he realized it was open to the Nimbus article. His own words from that morning reverberated somewhere deep in his skull.

_"...the value of the broom is going to skyrocket faster than it can fucking fly..."_

The weight of the Nimbus suddenly seemed very heavy in his hand.  He knew very suddenly what he had to do, though he never thought the words consciously.  It was just a heavy presence in his bones, a paralytic in his brain, a resignation in his whole body.  It was these things that James felt now, just as he had felt them the night he had saved Snape, and exactly as he had that night of agony he'd endured, thinking of little but Angela and Maddie.  And while this was less grandiose than saving lives, the feeling was still the same: a conviction, a morality, a core of a new soul that James would not let go. 

 

 

 

 

**A/N: I will not even begin to give you excuses.  I had my reasons for not posting for so long, but they are a number of small things that stacked up that I'm sure aren't satisfactory.  I plan to put aside more time for fic writing, so you can count on more regular updates!  I am so sorry to everyone who has followed this story. I know exactly what's it's like to be on the other side of the fence here! Please forgive me, but I completely understand if you find yourself unable to!**

**This chapter is not betaed, just a warning.  My betas didn't have time, which is totally my fault for not giving them more room to work with.  But, I promised you a deadline! So, here it is!**

**Yes, I know I have already asked so much of you, but I'm afraid I do have the audacity.... Review? :)**


	19. Seven of Spades

James no longer believed in a dealer.  All faith in the possibility of an ambiguous higher deity had been lost with the possibility of his mother ever coming home again, ever seeing his Head Boy badge, ever giggling drunkenly while pointing at her husband's suddenly pink hair, ever embracing James in an unwanted hug.  All Charlotte Potter would ever do now was decay, though much slower than James' long-held belief that everything would be okay and his mother would one day emerge from the hospital, healthy as a hippogriff.  His father, the champion of such thoughts, had ceased to be a model of inspiration for some time now, and James was instead left with this harsher version of reality that seemed to have sprung up the instant his mother was buried. 

It was not something that he considered very deeply or for very long. In fact, James was barely aware of this sudden change in his own beliefs.  It was so steady and gradual that it wasn't until a full moon excursion, when he saw the wolf kill a rabbit with a painfully easy swipe of its claws, the ground beneath unable to soak up all the blood from such a small animal, that he realized there was no possibility of a god watching, allowing that rabbit to be eaten.  There was no guidance.  There was no plan.  And any meaning in life came from those who lived it, not one who orchestrated it.  He and the other Marauders watched as the wolf devoured the string of red meat, Peter circling one of James' hooves, in under a minute; the possibility of an analogous relationship between themselves and a deity, where their lives were as simple and inferior as a rabbit to a wolf, was not a question for James.  It had not been for some time. 

This revelation changed remarkably little in his life.  He expected to find so many changes within himself after the encounter in the woods.  Instead, everything was very much the same, which was perhaps more unsettling.  James tried not to read too much into it.  He was functioning fine, after all. There were times when, after waiting what seemed like hours for the dorm to fill with steady breathing, he would creep to the door, down the stairs, across the Common Room, all the way down to the Quidditch pitch where he would fly for hours at time, weaving in and out of the hoops with so little awareness of how solid metal could be that when he landed there would be bruises decorating his arm.  There were times when his teeth would involuntarily clench at the sight of Avery, when he could practically feel the pain seep through the hundreds of cuts across his body, when his heart pumped twice as fast while reading the _Daily Prophet_ 's coverage on the latest raid.  And then there had been that one time, when James had found his mother's favorite book in the library, _Doubts of a Dragon_ , and after so long of believing he was over it, he'd cried himself dry against the shelves.

Faith in a dealer would have helped.  But to James that would've been like bandages to a decapitated body or dull scissors hours after a hanging.  Too late.  Unable to do anything.  Absent when it mattered. James didn't try to convince himself otherwise.  He focused on Quidditch, training for the upcoming match; the Marauders and their last Halloween prank; Lily, who had divulged that she was "glad to be friends" after Potions on Friday.  He convinced himself that it was inconsequential, but, in truth, there was something slightly off.  Not because anything actually changed.  But it seemed so mismatched compared to the rest of James' personality.  He trusted others beyond reason, he approached challenges as if he had already won, and had always believed that Lily would say yes one day.  All of these were things that could never be proved or validated.  All of these things had hurt him at one time or another.  But there was no backlash against these long-held beliefs. James never thought about it for long enough to consider the contradiction.

For though James was as interested in himself, if not more so, as any teenage boy, there were some things that he did not even think to evaluate.  Some were the things that Drake had brought up in their sessions, but others were much deeper.  As much as James believed himself to be complex and multifaceted, he was unwilling to look too long in mirror.  Doing so only reveals more faults, not beauty.  Reflections darken with too much illumination.  And perhaps this was why James trusted others so.  He defined people too simply, never looking at all the complexity behind a smile, a scream, or a sob.  He believed the presentation, the quick glance in the mirror.  And this is why he had lost faith in a dealer.

His mother's death had been too bright.  It had brought too much illumination to the world, clearing so many shadows that James had trusted.  And though the light still seared his eyes, he did not miss the shadows of faith.  At least, in this matter, James was content to distrust.  

 

"I dare you, Padfoot."

Knowing that good things rarely happened after those words, Remus sighed.  James could practically see him rubbing his temples without looking back.  Honestly, it was probably one of the few times where he could understand why, but the potential for hilarity was too high for him to raise any objection.  Peter was staring almost challengingly at Sirius, who let out his classic bark of laughter in response.  The hallway was at its peak traffic as everyone converged towards the Great Hall for lunch, but the Marauders stood in the dead center of the corridor as they talked.  A group of third years gave them a particularly wide berth as they passed, afraid of being hexed for bumping into them at the wrong time.  James didn't recognize them, but he didn't give them a good look-over either.  Lily, Dorcas, and Alice were approaching them from the other end of the hallway, and Sirius still hadn't confirmed that he'd follow through.

"You have to do it now," James insisted.  "What're you gonna do, ignore a dare from _Wormtail?"_

"I guess I haven't seen anyone kick you in the balls yet this year," Remus relented, readjusting his book bag as he eyed the girls walking down the hall.  

"And you're not going to, Moony," Sirius said, taking off his own book bag and holding it out expectantly.  Peter rolled his eyes after a few seconds, but took it all the same.  "Thank you.  Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

He sidestepped directly in front of the three girls.  Dorcas appeared to have almost expected it, attempting to dodge him in the crowded corridor, but Sirius was too quick.  He grabbed her roughly around the waist, dipped her backwards, and snogged her before she could use her mouth for any other purpose.  Sirius pressed her right leg against his side, preventing her from kicking him unless she wanted to completely lose his balance.  James was just thinking how clever that was when Sirius suddenly screamed. He dropped Dorcas (Alice caught her at the last moment) and backed away, clutching his mouth.

 "Thoo bich!"

"Are you okay?" Lily said, rushing to her friends' side.  

"Well, you fucking deserved it!" Dorcas screeched, ignoring Lily and righting herself with Alice's help.  

"Detention," Lily declared, her face almost as red as her hair. James instinctively took a step back. 

"Wha'?  Sthee bit my tongue off!"

"Oh-"

"Wait, your tongue?" Peter cried. "How much?"

Sirius opened his mouth, blood trickling down his chin, and stuck his tongue out for Peter to inspect.  Several students stopped to observe the latest commotion caused by the Marauders, so much so that everyone coming from either end was blocked by a crowd of craning heads within seconds. The tip of Sirius' tongue was gone, a scarlet stump in its place.  A group of fifth year girls screamed, and one of them actually gagged.  Remus took a step forward, but Lily got there first.  

"Hold still," she said curtly, pulling out her wand.

"Whoa! Like held-"

" _Lengsanua!"_ She barely flicked her wand, but the stub of Sirius' tongue rapidly healed over; the blood stopped dripping down his mouth. Taste buds bloomed as layers of flesh spun over each other, gradually fading to a softer red, until only a slight scar remained.  Sirius closed his mouth, pushing his tongue up against his cheeks.  

"That's incredible!" James exclaimed.  "Can you heal other things?"

"Well, small things," Lily said quickly, but he could hear the tone of pride in her voice.  The group of students that had gathered behind them all began to dissipate, convinced that the show was over now that blood wasn't involved.  

"There's a ridge there!" Sirius cried as he continued to run his tongue along his own mouth.  "What the hell, Evans?"

"It'll go away in a few hours," Lily dismissed.  "You still have detention.  And I'll make damn sure that it's a good one, Sirius.  You can't just snog girls in the middle of the hallway against their will, let alone _Dorcas_."

"What, is she special or something?"

"Oh, please, like you don't know."

"Pete dared me."

"I told them not to, Lily," James interjected, shrugging helplessly.  "But what can you do?"

Lily rolled her eyes, followed swiftly by Remus, before saying, "I don't care who dared you, Sirius.  You completely violated her in the hallway, and-"

"Wait," Peter interjected suddenly, but without certainty.  "Where did the rest of Sirius' tongue _go?_ "

Silence gripped them as they skirted their eyes around the circle.  James scanned the floor, half-hoping to see a chunk of his best mate's flesh staining the stone red, but there was nothing.  Would someone have taken it?  What if they used it, for a Polyjuice Potion or something?  They'd just had Potions with the Slytherins, what if Snape-?

"I swallowed it," Dorcas admitted.  It was the meekest voice James had ever heard her use.  "I couldn't help it!  He was holding me at that angle, and when I bit his tongue, it just slid down."  She pressed a hand against her stomach, as if trying to feel it beneath her skin.  

"Oh my God!"

"We should get you to hospital wing, who knows what Sirius has in his mouth-"

"That's a good idea.  Filthier than a dog's mouth-"

"Really, Prongs?  Now's not a good time-"

"Oh my God!"

"She just couldn't resist swallowing-"

Dorcas smacked Sirius across the face before he could finish.  

"Go fuck yourself, Sirius, you sodding piece of shit."

"Aren't you gonna take points from her or something?" Sirius asked.

"For what? Standing up for herself?"

"Alright," James said, stepping forward.  "We're done with this."

"Oh, James Potter, ever the mediator," Dorcas mocked.

"Hey! I'm trying to stop all of this, for your sake, tongue-swallower."

"'Tongue-swallower?' Are you kidding me?" Lily shouted.

"'Toerag,'" he reminded.

She rolled her eyes, though he swore there was a glimmer of a grin, a spark in her eye.  Somehow, James understood that she was not angry at him, but at Sirius. "We're done here.  Come on, let's go."

"You stole my line," James countered.

"As Dorcas pointed out, that's _my_ line."

"And as _I_ pointed out, I was just trying-"

"Are you really arguing about who gets to be the mediator here?" Remus interjected exasperatedly.  "Prongs, honestly?"

"Fine," James said playfully. "Lily can do it.  I'm only Head Boy."

"As a fluke!" Remus exclaimed.  

"This is pointless!" Lily shouted, louder than them all.  "We're done here.  I'll talk to McGonagoll about your detention, Sirius. Be prepared to clean Myrtle's bathroom to Filch's standard." James internally winced; Myrtle had gone berserk in her toilet, uplifting the contents of a sewage pipes when a couple of third years insulted her figure. The area had been sealed off, not that anyone approached her bathroom if they could help it anyhow, but rumor was that most of the mess was created by feminine hygiene products.  

"Evans!" Sirius protested, even as the girls walked away towards the Great Hall. "That's just cruel!" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, you were expecting niceties after sexually assaulting my friend?" She waited a second for a reply, but her delivery had been so spot-on that none of the Marauders responded.  Alice grabbed Lily's arm and led her down the hallway, Dorcas already turning the corner up ahead.  

"Damn," James muttered.  He wasn't sure if it had really been an appropriate time to admire Lily's ass as she had walked away, but he wasn't terribly conflicted by it either.  "Myrtle's toilet?" he continued at conversational volume. "That's rough, mate.  Filch'll have you all night if Lily gets him to supervise."

"Wait, wait, Padfoot," Peter said, a large grin plastered on his face.  "I just realized... She's gonna shit out your tongue! Your tongue's gonna taste Meadowes' ass!"

Sirius reached out and snatched the back of Peter's cloak before he could get away, proceeding to hold him in a headlock so that Peter's tongue "could taste his pits all day".  In fairness, Sirius did let him go when the group reached the Great Hall.  

The four sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table, grabbing sandwiches as they discussed Sirius' punishment. None of them brought up the possibility of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.  The potential was too disgusting to even think about.  However, the topic was swiftly changed when Frank entered the Hall and spotted them.

"Hey," he greeted, raising a hand as he sat down next to them.  The Marauders nodded their heads in acknowledgement.  Frank had been much friendlier as of late.  The other Marauders assumed that he'd finally gotten over his grudge in order to support Gideon and James in the upcoming match.  James, however, knew that it was because the Nimbus had sold for more than enough to buy Alice's ring.  "Alright, you lot?"

The four of them nodded, chewing their respective sandwiches.  Frank seemed to take the hint and grabbed a sandwich himself.  He'd seated himself next to James, which was rather awkward.  Despite Frank's sudden change in mood, he and James hadn't exactly been seeking the other out.  From his perspective, James didn't like to be reminded that he still didn't have a broom for the Quidditch game, which was in less than a month.  He imagined Frank's reason was more duty-based.  Regardless of how many times he'd thanked James and promised to repay the debt, this large of a gift between two friends that had never been incredibly close naturally led Frank to feel as if he owed James constantly.

Or, so James assumed.  They didn't really talk about it.

"How's Alice?" Remus asked tactfully.

Sure enough, Frank's face instantly lit up.  "She's great," he responded.  "She's really great. Er- Why're you smiling, James?"

"Oh, just laughing at how lovesick you are," James covered.  This was typical behavior of all the Marauders, so it didn't draw any suspicion.  

"Right, I should expect- Wait, is she supposed to be here?"

The Marauders turned to where Frank was indicating.  They'd been so busy discussing the events in the hall that they hadn't even looked up at the staff table.  For the most part, it was rather normal.  The professors were surveying the students (particularly the corner the Marauders were in) for mischief, discussing morning classes, or sitting silently consuming their meal.  James' eyes scanned the table for anyone amiss.

"I don't see anyone that's not normally there," he said.

"Prongs," Sirius indicated, pointing boldly between Slughorn and Hagrid.

It was Drake.  She was sipping her soup, apparently listening intently to whatever Hagrid was saying, nodding gently.  Her eyes didn't so much as glance at the students.  James noticed that she was still ridiculously thin, despite the two empty plates in front of her.  All her actions, from the rising of her spoon to her mouth, to the occasional hand gesture, were characteristically deliberate.  He felt a sudden surge of resentment.

"No idea," James said, answering Frank's original question, as though it did not concern him either way.  Which it _didn't_ , he reminded himself.  He was seventeen.  He didn't have to listen to a word that she wanted so say, however much she could analyze about him.  "Fancy a game of Exploding Snap before class?"

The other Marauders agreed, though Remus seemed to know exactly what was going on, and they left the Great Hall and Frank behind.  Just before closing the door behind him, James chanced a look up at the staff table.  Drake was looking directly at him, and, though they were quite a distance apart, he swore that she mouthed, " _seven_ ".

 

 

McGonagoll had approached Sirius at the start of Transfiguration, the last lesson of the day, and informed him that he would be serving detention that very night.  However, she neglected to give him any of the details, only saying he was to report outside Filch's office at six and that he "ought to skip dinner". This was more ominous than anything she had ever said to any of the Marauders about previous detentions, but Sirius had appeared as collected as ever when he had responded that he ought to skip the detention instead.

 "There's no _way_ that I'm cleaning Myrtle's bathroom," Sirius proclaimed as soon as they left the classroom.  "I don't care what Filch does, that's downright inhuman."

"They can't actually have you clean that, right?" Peter said, adjusting his shoulder strap as he looked at Remus for confirmation.  "That's gotta be some kind of health concern.  He could get infected!"

 "No, I'm sure of it, there's no way-" Remus began, but fell short as Lily walked past and...

"Did she just _wink_?" Peter whispered.

James closed his jaw.  "She's got it out for you, Padfoot."

"No, there's no way she could get a professor to approve it, even if she wanted to," Remus reasoned.

"Who says the professor needs to approve it?" Peter replied.  "She could've told McGonagoll one thing, but Filch'll do anything to fuck with Sirius."

"Yeah, but Evans is too much of a goody-two-shoes to lie like that," Sirius argued.  He had the same haughty, almost bored expression that he usually had during the school day, but James could sense the uneasiness beneath it. 

"I don't know, Padfoot," James said.  "Lily's not as goody-two-shoes as you think."

Sirius rolled his eyes.  "Right.  Excuse me if I don't take your word for it, mate."

"Hey, I know her the best out of all of us."

"Except for Moony," Peter clarified.

Remus shrugged.  James waited a moment for someone else to say something before grabbing Remus' shoulder and simultaneously halting the group.  "Wait, you think you know Lily better than I do?"

"Well, I mean, I would say that I know about her dating preferences better than you do."

Sirius and Peter laughed and started forward again, but they stopped upon realizing that the other two weren't following them.  "Come on, Prongs, you're not actually upset?" Sirius asked disbelievingly.

"Of course not. I'm not a bleeding pansy, am I?  But I _do_  know Lily better than you do, Moony."  He continued down the corridor, the other Marauders following him, and added, "She likes me now."

"That's true," Remus said, although James thought his tone too passive to be sincere.  "You two have been getting along a lot better now.  I honestly don't know how much you know her."

"You just believe that you know her better?"

"Well, I've been her friend for longer.  And we always got along, even in first year.  Not to mention we were prefects together, and-"

"I'll prove it," James declared.  "Care for a little competition, Moony?"

"Friendship isn't a _game_ , Prongs."

James raised an eyebrow.  "If you're afraid that you're going to _lose_...."

Remus sighed. "I'm not afraid of losing, but you don't think it's a little insulting to-?"

"Oh, come on, Remus, don't be such a pussy," Sirius said, pushing aside a tapestry of Icarus falling to his death.  Peter quickly ducked into the passageway behind it, the other Marauders stepping in after him.  "What's the real harm?"

"We've seen what can happen when we take up moronic competitions today."

"Except that one, that was a dare, not a competition," James reminded as they hurried along the narrow passage.  "And two, that was made by Wormtail, which was just asking for it, really."

"Alright, alright, but how would we even do it?" Remus asked.  "How would could we test who knows her better?"

"We could just _ask_ her," Peter supplied. "But I suppose she wouldn't necessarily know, would she?"

"Why do you even suggest things when you already know how stupid they are?" James asked.  Peter shrugged, but didn't respond, suddenly becoming very interested in making sure all his papers were in his bag.  "We could get her a gift?  Anonymously, and then find out which one she likes better."

"No," Remus said shortly.  "Lily doesn't like-"

"Or you two could _make_  the gifts," Peter said, saving Remus the trouble of coming up with an excuse.  "She seems the type to like that sort of thing."

The four exited the passageway, only a corridor away from the Great Hall.  If Sirius was going to eat before detention, they would have to get there quickly.  The corridor was deserted, as it only contained an unused classroom, a broom closet, and the tapestry of Morgana that they had just exited out of.  The Marauders quickly walked along it and up a short set of stairs as Remus and James contemplated their individual likelihood of success.

"Alright," Remus agreed.  "We'll each make Lily a present. Peter will deliver them, to make sure that they're anonymous."

"By the end of the week?" James proposed.  He stopped and outstretched his hand.  Despite years of friendship and mischief together, the Marauders had a tendency to seal bets with a handshake.  While James' demeanor was casual, Remus wasn't a fool. He'd realized James' tactic before the words had even left his friend's mouth.

"What're the terms?" he asked.

"Food, mates?  You can talk about this in the Hall, c'mon," Sirius interrupted, urging them forward.  

"Alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," James joked.  "Er, how 'bout loser has to address the winner by chosen name for a week?"

"How about loser has to do winner's Charms essay _to the best of his ability_ -?"

"I got it," Sirius proclaimed, bursting through the Great Hall doors.  They were one of the first students there, so his words echoed throughout the relatively empty room.  Kettleburn eyed them suspiciously from the teachers' table.  Remus raised an apologetic hand, which seemed to be enough to prompt the professor to return to his dinner.

The Marauders rushed to the dinner table, occupying the same seats they had sat in for lunch, and leaned in closely, partly in a hurry to shovel food on their plates and partly in anticipation for Sirius' idea.  

"Before you can't talk, Padfoot," James said, "the terms?"

"Winner picks loser's Halloween costume."

"Agreed," James and Remus said in unison.  

"Oh, so you think you're gonna win?" 

"Prongs, we're making a gift for her.  Have you _ever_  made a gift before?"

"Dis has ghoutha be thla _thummest_  bet weeb eber done," Sirius suggested, his mouth full of rolls.  He swallowed roughly and then took a large gulp of pumpkin juice, leaning his head back so the liquid couldn't fall out, and said something else that none of them could understand.  

"I've got beginner's luck on my side," James quipped, scooping a large portion of potatoes on his plate.  Remus rolled his eyes for what must've been the fourth time that day, but turned towards his own plate of rare meat (the full moon was in a little less than a week).

"No magic?" 

James stared at him disbelievingly.  "Not fucking likely."

"Alright, fine, but no summoning.  We can only use magic to put it together.  Agreed?"

"Agreed," James said, outstretching his hand again.  Remus eyed it for a moment, obviously looking for some loophole he'd missed, but took it with more confidence than he usually did when accepting a bet.  James couldn't decide if that was a good or bad sign, but he knew it didn't matter either way.

The four of them shoved food down their throats so fast, even with the occasional pause to suggest a particularly humiliating Halloween costume, that they were finishing by the time that the rest of the school started filling the Hall.  Sirius stood up slowly, piling some extra food on a napkin, and started walking away.

"Are you sure you want to take that food to detention, Sirius?" Lily asked from a few seats away.  

"Oh, I wouldn't," Dorcas chimed in.  "I've seen that bathroom."

"I'm not cleaning that bathroom," Sirius said clearly, walking towards the door, shoving food in his face defiantly.

"That'll go over splendidly," Lily spat sarcastically.

"You'd go over splendidly," James said, not quite loud enough for the girls to hear.  Peter snorted.

"You should just save yourself some time," Alice called, just as Sirius was leaving, making a rude hand gesture before disappearing behind the double doors.  "Meet Filch there!"

The girls erupted into a fit of laughs, loud enough to draw the table's attention.  Alice playfully "shhh"ed the other two, causing them to laugh just as hard, but quieter.  Dorcas almost knocked over a jug of pumpkin juice in her fit.  Personally, James didn't find the idea of Sirius being forced to clean up Myrtle's bathroom funny;  he scowled, his mood turning dark, when he noticed Remus, who was transfixed on the sight of the girls laughing, furrowed brow and all.

James let down his spoon, letting it sink back into his soup, and realized what was so interesting.  He couldn't believe he'd let it slip by him.  Surely, if _he_  felt this way, then there was no way that the girls, that _Lily_ would be so cruel.  It was so out of character.  Sirius had been right all along.

He stood up and walked over to where the girls were still giggling, putting his hand on the shoulder of a third year boy sitting next to Alice.  "Move it."  The boy and his friends quickly accommodated, scooting down the bench and giving James a generous spot to sit. He had already swung one leg over and leaned over the table when the girls finally noticed him and calmed down.

"You were just taking the mickey out of him!" James half-shouted, despite his close proximity.

"His face!" Dorcas exclaimed.  "Did you see his _face_?  So worth it."

"Yeah, riot it was," James said quickly.  "You _lied_."

Lily suddenly drew herself up, an air of authority concentrating around her, but her smile was too genuine for it to be her prefect pose.  "I didn't _lie_ ," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, "I just led him to believe a particular truth."

"That is called 'lying', last time I checked.  It has been a while, though, I usually don't bother to check things that are common knowledge."

"Well, I checked this morning," Lily snapped, "and there's an exception for people who have sexually assaulted your best friend."

"That's a strangely specific exception," James mocked.

"I thought so too, but I'm hardly one to question the rules, am I?"

The challenge was practically tangible; it forced James' mouth open and a perplexed expression on his face.  He sat there, gapping at her, as she stood up in unison with her friends and left the dinner table.  He blinked, wracking his brain for something witty to shout back at her, so that she would know that she hadn't just rewritten his conceptualization of her.  He knew her, he'd known her for years, and he'd been so confident in that fact that he'd been willing to enter a bet against Remus over it.  But this...

Maybe Lily didn't just blindly follow the rules.  Maybe she didn't just think that rules should be obeyed because they were rules, but for some other reason that she really believed in. Maybe her enforcing rules was like James not swearing in front of women or always trusting his mates.  It was a more to be respected, and there was a reason.  There had always been a reason.  James just hadn't thought that the same logic could apply to rules.

He unconsciously stood up from the table as the three girls exited the Hall.  Dorcas looked over her shoulder at James, and she broke out in another wave of laughter before closing the door behind her.  He realized how stupid he must've looked and hastily closed his mouth.  Peter gestured for him to rejoin their section of the table, but he shook his head slowly and walked out of the Great Hall instead.

Now that James thought about it, Lily had never been completely devoted to the rules.  She had been a little snarky in Slughorn's class before, though it had never resulted in any detentions or deduction in house points.  There were rumors that Lily had received letters from the Ministry, warning her not to use magic outside of Hogwarts, which James had always assumed was ludicrous. Whenever anyone brought these rumors up, he'd always pictured second year Lily, who had chastised him for not wearing his tie and tattled on him for cheating on his Charms exam.  However, as James realized the more he thought about it, ever since they'd hit puberty Lily had only ever confronted the Marauders when they'd bullied a kid, especially Snape, or if she felt like someone else was liable to be hurt.  Perhaps second year Lily had been a bit too rule-conscious, but the now she rarely interfered with their antics unless it interrupted her studies.  

This revelation filled him with a sense of purpose, for some reason.  Lily wasn't twelve anymore.  She'd changed, just as he had, right? He'd pigeon-holed her based on how she used to be, but now he could see past that.  This whole thing with Sirius was supposed to happen, so that he could realize that Lily was more than he'd thought.  And this Lily- not second year Lily, not Lily as he had thought of her until five minutes ago- he preferred.  And now, as James heard Alice's voice rounding the coming corridor, he knew what the purpose was.  

"Er- Lily? Wait up," he half-shouted, but the footsteps stopped anyways.  

He hastily turned the corner, coming to face a long hallway with torch brackets every couple of feet.  It wasn't very welcoming, but the usual cobwebs had recently been cleared and the floor swept.  Students didn't often come down this way, but older Gryffindors knew that there was a hidden passageway further down that allowed them to skip the Grand Staircase for two floors.  The three girls stood in the center, staring questioningly at him, the smiles fading from their faces.  Despite the bleak surroundings, James felt confident, as if fate had painstakingly planned for every word he was about to say.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Lily?"

"Er- yeah, alright," she said, moving away from Alice and the Dorcas. The latter was mouthing something to James over the shoulders of the other two and widening her eyes in a way that was apparently supposed to mean something. 

"We'll see you upstairs, then," Alice said, oblivious to her friend's unsuccessful pantomiming.  Lily turned around and nodded, causing Dorcas to stop abruptly.

James pretended that he didn't notice anything amiss.  Even as the other two girls disappeared around the curve of the hallway, Dorcas was clearly trying to convey something to him.  Completely nonplussed, he tried not to let her warning- or whatever it was- shake him.  

"What's up?" Lily asked expectantly, adjusting her massive bag so that it hung across her torso instead of slipping down the slope of her shoulder.  The strap clearly defined the separation of her breasts, stretching the material of the blouse she wore underneath.  James could see the light blue of her bra.

His hand unconsciously flew to the top of his head, ruffling it into the proper state of wind-sweptness.  "I, well, I wanted to let you know," he began, suddenly clueless of what exactly this grand purpose had been, "that... that you're even better than I thought you were."

Lily blinked.  "Pardon?"

"You're ... you do these things, Lily, that I know aren't meant to make people like you. Even though you're nice to _everyone_ , you're willing to stand up for anyone to anyone, and you're there if someone needs it, regardless of whether they want you there or not... Point is, you do these things, which aren't intended to make people like you, but they do. And you also do things like tell me off for being an arrogant berk, or argue with me, or lie to my best mate, which I know should make me resent you, but I really don't.  They make me like you more, honestly, because I feel like... like I'm seeing something that not everyone gets to see.  I'm touching a part of you that no one else notices. Like there's more to you, and I just know I'm gonna like all of it, you know?  I really do fancy you, Lily, alright, and I was wondering... if you'd let me.  Know more, that is. On Halloween, there's a Hogsmeade trip, and..."

He'd faltered at the end, because he'd noticed the uncomfortable expression on her face.  It was obvious that his speech hadn't been received in the way he had hoped.  James' hand quickly returned to his hair, he could feel his heart barraging against his chest wall in embarrassment.  But there it was, he'd said it, he hadn't hid his feelings... There was no alternative for James, not anymore.  This ability to feel was something to be proud of, something to be worn on as boldly as his Quidditch uniform, and worth every bit of anxiety. Lily had been right last year- he wasn't someone to hide his feelings.  It was just unnatural.  It ought to be laid out there for all to see, and if they didn't like it, that was their bloody problem.

_Right_?

"...and I was wondering if you'd like to go with a group? Not a date, or anything, just a chance to get to know you outside of Hogwarts, yeah? C'mon, what'd'ya say?"

She bit her lip.  The corner slid underneath her teeth slowly, far too slowly for it be a representation of reality, but that was the way James experienced it.  His hyperactive brain saw all her nervous gestures individually, even though he knew she was expressing them all simultaneously.  She shifted her weight, lifting her shoulder bag so that her bra was no longer visible, and moved a thread of hair behind her ear unnecessarily.  For the briefest moment, even in this exaggeratingly slow state, the flickering torchlight glinted off her shifting wrist, as if from some thin metallic material, but a second later everything rushed back to normal speed and Lily's wrist was (as it always had been, James reminded himself) bare. 

"Alright," she said suddenly, her voice much more confident than her face. "But this is _not_  a date, alright?  We're bringing other friends. And not just Sirius, okay?  No one needs to hear Dorcas and him bicker at each other all day."

"Oh, so you're confident we'll turn out differently?"

She laughed, but stopped as if her rationality got the better of her.  "We'll be civil.  We can be friendly, as long as you aren't being a prat."

"I'm not planning on it, especially on our first date."

As if on cue, Lily immediately shouted, "It's not a date!" Her face went from resolved to downright distraught in a second, causing James to swallow a dense ball of disappointment.  It landed right in his gut, forcing it to plummet. An unpleasant tingling sensation ran along his arms, not from a sudden draft, but from the realization that despite their new friendship, Lily still found the idea of dating him distressing.  

"Relax, I'm only joking," James said, chuckling weakly.  "You were very clear. It's not a date. I'll bring the Marauders."

"Don't you have any friends besides them?" she asked, her voice half-serious. She still hadn't recovered from James' jab.  

"'Course, I do.  But these three are by far the most entertaining."

She rolled her eyes.  "You're at least right about that."  There was a brief moment of silence in which the two exchanged a glance.  James was convinced that it meant _something_ , but he couldn't quite settle on what.  It wasn't flirtatious or even admonishing.  In fact, it had the same feeling as Dorcas' frantic eye-widening had earlier and even a hint of pity.  

"Right," Lily continued, preventing the silence from reaching the level of undeniable awkwardness.  "It's settled then.  I'll see you around, okay?"

"Right," James confirmed firmly.  "See you around."  He turned around, towards the way he came, and waved a quick good-bye.  Lily returned the favor and proceeded towards the passageway.

The feeling of success surged into him as soon as he rounded the corner.  He'd finally done it. Alright, so it wasn't a date?  So what if fate had seemed to be pointing that way?  Now, he had an almost-date with her.  He'd be spending time with her Hogsmeade, which, even with the addition of other people, was a huge step up for James.  This time last year, he and Lily would have been shouting before he even got around to asking the question.  Now, while she didn't want to date him, she wanted to be around him.  She wanted to be his friend, at least to the point where she didn't want to risk hurting his feelings.  

This euphoria distracted him so much that when he came to, he was much farther down the first floor corridor than he'd intended.  Realizing that he'd passed the staircase leading back down to the Great Hall, James began to double back, when a sudden warmth flooded one of his shoes.  

Quickly withdrawing his foot, James whipped out his wand.  The torch brackets had not been lit in this half of the corridor.   _Lumos_ , he thought quickly, and the familiar white light appeared on the tip of his wand.  The tip of his shoe had been stained burgundy.  He raised his wand, widening the circle of light, revealing a pool seeping from underneath the door to his left.  It was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Ergh!" James exclaimed, disgusted.  He quickly removed his shoe, glad to see that it hadn't stained his socks yet, and held it at arm's length.  " _Scrougify_!" He tapped it sharply, and the offending mark disappeared from the end of the shoe.  Realizing that he wouldn't wish the task of cleaning the bathroom on anyone, not even Filch, James tried to push his shoe back onto his foot, all the while backing away from the ever-expanding pool.

"POTTER!"

The screech was so blood-curdling that James actually fell backwards (thankfully away from the blood) in his one-legged effort to put his refasten his shoe.  He caught himself on a torch bracket.  The metal was cold, as if there hadn't been a fire within it for hours, but his body was suddenly much colder, as if a sheet of icy water had passed through it.

"THINK IT'S FUNNY, DO YOU?" Myrtle screamed. She was floating directly in front of him, having zoomed through James' body to face him.  "AS IF MY LIFE ISN'T ALREADY DIFFICULT ENOUGH?  AS IF I'M NOT MISERABLE ENOUGH? MAYBE I SHOULD MOAN SOME MORE, THEN MEAN BOYS LIKE YOU COULD-"

"Dear Merlin, shut it!" James shouted, righting himself, but he was no match for Myrtle's wails.  

"-EVEN NOW, AFTER OLIVE HORNBY IS GONE, I'M STILL BULLIED BY YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS," she continued, as if James hadn't spoken at all, but now with the addition of tears running down her translucent cheeks.  "IT WASN'T FUNNY WHEN YOU MADE THAT STUPID SONG, OR WHEN YOU TAUGHT IT TO PEEVES, OR WHEN YOU SURROUNDED ME WITH FANS SO I COULDN'T MOVE, OR WHEN YOU BLOCKED ALL THE GIRLS' BATHROOMS IN THE SCHOOL BUT MINE, AND IT'S NOT FUNNY NOW WHEN YOU FLOODED MY BATHROOM WITH GIRLS' LEAVINGS AFTER IT HAD ALREADY BEEN CLEANED UP.  ARE YOU TRYING TO REMIND ME THAT I'M DEAD, AND SO I CAN'T-?"

"Wait," James said sternly, and for some unknown reason this time she stopped, though she was still heaving tears.  "Someone else already cleaned up?  Who?"

"Filch," Myrtle sniffed.  "He came in a long time ago.  I was only minding my own business, but he told me to stop _whinging_ , so I left.  I've been in the prefects' bathroom for hours, crying my eyes out, but no one even-"

"Well, as long as Sirius didn't have to do it-"

"Oh, yes, as long as _you_ and _your friends_  don't have to deal with it, then it's  _fine_ , isn't it?  As long as it's only _Myrtle_  who's bothered, who cares?  It's only here _home_ , why should anyone-?"

"Maybe you shouldn't live in a bathroom then!" James shouted, turning and walking away.  Just to make sure she left him alone, he added, "Or is that the only room in the whole castle that would have you?"

Predictably, Mytle wailed again, her tears reaching new volumes, and dived through the wall into her bathroom.  Unpredictably, her cries stopped very suddenly, and there was a terrified scream that forced the hairs on James' neck to stand up.

 He turned automatically; Myrtle had flown out of her bathroom and was zooming towards him.  He ducked on instinct, but it didn't matter.  A sheet of ice ran over his back, causing him to snap upright just in time to see Myrtle disappear around the corner.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, looking from where the ghost had just flown back towards the bathroom.  He raised his wand again, noticing that the massive semicircle of blood had finally stopped growing.  He edged closer, but stopped just short of the dark pool on the floor.  What if Myrtle had simply been so overcome by the state of her bathroom that she'd fled down the hall?  It didn't necessarily mean that something bad had happened as soon as she'd entered it.

But, now that James thought about it, if this had been a reoccurence of the day's earlier incident, wouldn't there be... products on the floor?  And the blood would be gushing as it rose from the toilets, not seeping from underneath the door.  There was no way that the teachers hadn't put some sort of protection on the toilets by now.  James knew; whenever the Marauders and he figured out a new way to mess with the school's workings, the professors were never slow to prevent other students from mimicking them.  And then there was this tight sensation in his gut, like a loaded spring, that confirmed everything James was thinking but didn't need to.

The blood soaked through his socks and bathed his feet as he walked towards the bathroom door.  He lowered his wand to chest height, clenching his jaw as his heart beat frantically against his sternum again.  James tried to breathe deeply, but he couldn't breathe at all.  His lungs were frozen; his feet were hot with another's blood; his hand silently pressed against the door.  With one hard push, James was suddenly in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, to observe the victim of the second murder to have ever happened there.

Her body was leaning against one of the sinks at an awkward angle.  It was unnaturally rigid, with long legs splayed but arms snapped to her sides.  Half of her torso still stuck to the sink, but the lower half rested on the floor, staining her purple robes scarlet.  Her hair was still perfectly styled, with only the ends red from the blood that had streamed down from her gouged eyes.

Only empty sockets stared unknowingly ahead, their unnatural fleshy color apparent now that all the blood had drained down her cheeks.  For a moment, James could look at nothing else except those revolting, empty holes.  There was no humanity to be found in her face, no semblance of the soul that had been, but only the destruction of the body which everyone so depends on.  

Yet this depravity wasn't over.  Even as James watched, his wand still pointed at the dead body in front of him, something pink was exuding from her mouth, flicking back and forth.  James stepped forward, but instantly jumped backward again as her mouth popped open, and he realized what the pink string was.  It was a tongue, the tongue of the emerald serpent that now slithered from Drake's throat and onto the floor.  

 

 

 

  **A/N: Would you believe this chapter was written months ago, it just didn't get around to being betaed?  Heh heh heh... -nervous laughter- I know it's been forever, so I'm just curious: How many still want to read this? If I posted more, would people care?  Or have I understandably lost everyone?**

**Thanks for reading!!!! Review? :)**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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